Fallout: Vestige
by GallantRogue
Summary: All across the Lone Star Wasteland, stories are told of a man dressed in black who protects the innocent and punishes the corrupt. A shadowy figure who roams the lands, wielding two silver revolvers and righting wrongs. He's a living legend. But in every legend, there's a shred of reality. And sometimes, that reality is far, far worse then you could of imagined.
1. Chapter 1 Haze of dawn

_"It's a cruel world...and it breeds cruel men."_

Sands rolled over barren streets, cracked and faded grey pavement cut a line in the ground towards the setting sun. The dust and sand carried with the wind swept over the old, long faded road. It was howling at the setting, bloody and orange sun. Howling for it to fade to darkness once more, so nightmare's could be reborn.

 _"Men who roam...killing, burning and destroying their way through settlements after settlements...lives lost out of psychotic rage or toxic souls. We keep dying, over and over again. We're dying...one drop of blood at a time."_

A noise chimed through the wind in a steady, determined rhythm. The sound a tin like object hitting that faded and greyed pavement in a steady pace. It grew louder and louder, and as did a faint and also steady ticking noise. Electronic. It drew closer and closer before a figure in cracked, browned leather armor made his way down the street, arm raised to block the sand from hitting his face any more then it already was. The electronics green tinted wording on the screen continued the scroll as the ticking grew ever constant.

 _"Good men are a thing of the past. A thing that needs to be left in the ruins and sands. They were killed long, long ago. And if you're smart, you'll leave the mantel of a 'good man' alone. It's a fairy-tale in this world. This...wasteland."_

He had a black bandana pulled over his face to prevent breathing any more grime then he already was. Didn't know how much good it did, seeing how he could taste the dust and feel it, gritty on his nicotine stained teeth. His black cowboy hat was angled down a little, an attempt to keep the setting sun out of his eyes. The reflection of the sun setting behind a ruined landscape of towers and buildings reflected in the man's sun-glasses.

 _"In this world, there's three kinds of people. The one's that keep their head's down and try to stay out of trouble. The one's who go looking for trouble, causing nothing but pain in their wake. And the Survivors. The one's who don't live by no man's code. Don't live by old-world-morals. The one's that do whatever they have too to survive this world. THAT is the kind of man you need to be."_

His worn, sun faded leather boots pressed against the ground in a steady pace. Sand sweeping across the ground around, against and over them. The spurs on the back of them-which he found in a pawn-shop he discovered-clanked against the ground and spun a little with each step. As he walked, the sun slipped further and further downward. The sands rolled on. He kept his pace, acknowledging what he was passing with a glance, but never slowing down. His feet carried him past a broken and sand worn skull, it's jaw broken off to the side.

 _"This world has no place for a good man. It has no place for heroes. It has a place for survivor's, though. You hear stories about them. Their name's get carried away with the sand, but their deeds stand like the towers in the Crypt. And so does their titles, even if their names get lost. Couriers and Wanderer's alike. Survivors."_

His breathing was an even, slow pace. The leather of his breeches and his six-shooter's holster grinding together on his thigh. He'd need to tie them down better. The sun was setting fast, though. Faster then he wanted. But he didn't break his pace, knowing the city was close. It was so close. He knew, because the electronic ticking from the device on his wrist got progressively faster the closer he got.

He gave a rib-cage of a woman a glance as he walked by it, shredded cloths hanging off the sun bleached bones. After acknowledging it and turning his head forward, the more he noticed. The more obvious it became. The bone's, just littered about. All down the street, all out in the sands. Hundreds. More that he couldn't see. But it was enough for him to see those. His breathing got faster, as did his heart.

 _"Ask yourself, what kind of man do you want to be? A man who keeps his head down. A man who's a cancer to all life no matter where he goes. Or a man who stands up, and endures. Who wears his scars like a badge of honor. Ask yourself, what kind of man do you want to be?"_

The winds suddenly seemed to still as he approached the the first rusted, wrecked car laying on it's roof. Another skeleton laying inside of it, on it's belly with it's arm out-stretched. He was careful not to step on the bones scattered around him. Didn't want to make a unwanted noise. He'd have to take the spurs off before he got into the city.

He watched the sun through the cracks of the sky-scrapers that were still standing. Through the blown-out windows. In some of those window's he was sure he could figures moving, and tried to convince himself it was his mind playing tricks on him. If only he believed that. If only that were true. But he knew the truth, the truth of what he was going into. The closer he got, the more gnawed bones he was forced to walk on in the streets. A faded and scratched up green city sign was posted to his right. It had the common 'Welcome to' but the name was scratched out, and in red was painted _"Death"_ and below it _"Turn back!"_

So many bones. And as he got closer to the city, they were unrelenting. And so were the abandoned and destroyed cars, trucks, bikes and everything else that would have been drivable hundreds of years ago. There was no escaping what happened here. Not then, and not now. His Geiger counter ticked wildly the closer he got to this old city. But was he too late? He was watching the sun set rapidly, dropping, falling faster and faster in the distance. He was too late.

There should have been a orchestra from one of those old holo-tapes playing in that moment. He began to sprint down the street towards the city, hoping to make it to one of the outskirt buildings before it dropped and all of hell awakened. It was a brief and fruitless mad-dash. He slowed to a stop as the sun dropped out of sight, and the light began to die out to darkness.

That's when the first scream came.

It was a calling sign and it ignited a tidal wave of more screams. Dozens turned into hundreds and hundreds into possibly thousands. _'Run...'_ every instinct in his body begged him. The howls echoed into the dusk sky as he stepped forward and took off sprinting down the street, spurs clanking and bones scraping and cracking under his boots. He was making way to much noise, they would find him. They would find him and they'd tear him limb from limb. Rip into his belly and pull hand fulls of his guts out and gorge them-selves on it. They'd strip his flesh and choke on his bones.

He wouldn't let them. He turned and ran along side a faded white moving truck. The cracked and rather eerie picture of a smiling woman holding a thumbs up on the bullet hole ridden side of it flashed by as he ran to the back of it. He stepped up and into it, grabbing the edge of one rusty door and pulling it closed. It screeched on it's rusted hinged and he locked it in place.

The howling was getting louder, and he knew soon they would be flooding his way in search for food. They'd flood in all directions in search for food. He moved over and grabbed the other door, pulling it closed and locking it in place. The screams echoed in the back of the truck, louder then ever. Louder and louder, their raspy, horse and scratchy moans got. Their feet stampeding in a loud and out of sync orchestra as they ran towards the truck.

He moved over to the side of the the cab and got on one knee, taking his hat off and pressing his eye up to one of the bullet holes, peering into the barely moon-lit outside world. The thunderous footsteps seemed to have stopped, turning into a shuffling. They no doubt smelled him in the air, but couldn't find him.  
One of them shuffled into view. Emaciated and leather like skin hanging over nothing but bones, like a drape over railing. It's upper lip along with it's nose was missing, yet it perked it's head up and sniffed the air. It's milk white eyes searching around for whatever it was it smelled.

The man pivoted away from the hole and held his breath, closing his eyes tight and hoping it wouldn't find him and alert the others. But by the grace of god, something happened. The sound of a tin can moving against the ground in the distance behind him. Probably the wind or some unlucky vermin.

The ghoul howled a hoarse scream, signaling the others, then charged forward. The man moved back and pressed his eye to the hole. The cab began to shake as ghouls poured around it, all emaciated and mutilated by radiation, time and the sun. Dozens upon dozens poured around the vehicle, and that was just on the side he was looking out of. Dust being kicked up and their screams echoing out as they raced forward, looking for a meal. The cab was shaking, rocking back and forth. The man moved away from the bullet hole and braced on the floor, gritting his teeth and holding on for dear life.

His eyes opened and the rumbling of the stampede had past, though it still vibrated in his mind. His brown eyes blinked numbly. He was sweating cold and his heart was racing, fists gripping the bedsheets. He sat up in the bed quickly, glancing around the sun-lit room. He was alone. He was always alone when he awoke.  
His body released from it's tensed state, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Feet pressing on the wood floor, arms holding him up on the bed and head bowed. His bare and broad chest rose and fell quickly, damp with sweat. His brown eyes stared down at the ground, and he slowly blinked, trying to erase the nightmare from his mind. But he couldn't. He's never managed to, and perhaps he never will. All he could do was stand up, and endure.

 _"It's a cruel, cruel world. Filled with death, violence, horror, and war. The landscape is ever changing, but it's people will always stay the same. Do you know why? Because of war...war never changes."_


	2. Chapter 2 One Days Walk

He breathed in the hot and dusty air, looking about the dark room. Eyes scanning it to make sure no one-or thing- had crept into the room while he was sleeping. From his hazy, half asleep state, it looked all clear.  
The sun was shining through the cracks in the boarded up windows into the dark room. The dust danced in the air, the light making it look like something out of a fairy tale. Reality was, it more akin to a nightmare.

He stood with a groan, stretching out his back. It was always nice to find a run down house with a bed in it to throw his sleeping-bag over and sleep. He had long sense stopped caring about where he slept, but still found sleeping in a house to have some resemblance of civility. Another thing he'd long sense forgotten.  
He got dressed rather quickly, shaking the dust and dirt from his torn and ragged clothing. Once they were black. He was sure of it. Now they were greyed and faded. His button up shirt torn on the sleeves and one small tear on the ribs. His jeans were stiff with dirt and sweat, as was all his clothes. Faded so far they nearly looked a dirty white. The knees tearing out of them, the fray around the waist and the ankles ripping. His boots were dried and well worn, sun-cracked. They too used to be black. Once.

He fastened his stiff holster, now brown with wear, onto his hips. The only-thing worth a single damn, of any value what-so-ever, was the pair of six shooters in the holsters. Well oiled. Polished silver with floral engravings. Ivory handles. They'd seen much, much use, but still maintained a shine. A gift from an old man.

He threw on a hard, cracked and torn leather duster. A corner missing out of the collar, and one of the sleeves torn. The ends of the duster were split almost all the way up the calf in some places. It kept the dust off him, though.  
The next to last thing he did was strap on a large, green, military duffel-bag around his torso and onto his back. It was loaded with supplies, including the rolled up sleeping-bag. He slid his tattered and flimsy cowboy hat off the ruined dresser he'd laid it on last night. Beat the dust off it, thinking to himself that the hat used to be black too, now it was decrepit and brown. Dark stains from old, dried blood spattered it in places. He put it on and fitted it to his head, then made for the door.

A little ways out he realized he may not have got as good of sleep as originally thought. The sound of cicada's was deafening, but at the same time hypnotizing. And with the sun blaring down and the constant rhythm of his footsteps, gravel and dirt crunching under his boots, he found he was already getting tired again. But there was simply no time for that.  
He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept well. Actually slept. Must have weeks, months even. He didn't want to think about it. He never wanted to think about it, because deep down he knew the truth. Knew when he'd stopped sleeping. So he pushed it out of his mind, leaving it completely void, and kept walking.

Hours passed under the hot mid-day sun. His shoulders were getting heavy now, as were his eyes. The six-shooters strapped to his hips felt like thirty pound weights trapped to his sides. He slowly blinked, and at the worst time. His foot stepped on the edge of nothing but hardened dirt, and he slipped.  
' _Shit!_ ' he mumbled and caught himself. The sound of gravel and a stone rolling down hill into a thorn-bush bellow caught his attention. He glanced down, then pushed himself back up. Pain shot through his left thigh and he groaned, realizing he pulled something. Didn't surprise him, neither. His right side had damn near fallen off the hill. He could have kissed his left knee if he wanted to, his leg was bent so. But it didn't matter. Pain was just pain. He touched his left thigh and limped forward, now at a slower pace.

Hours passed, and the pain in his leg was dull and hot. He found himself under the shade of a burned up crisp of a tree. He took his bag off and put his back to the tree, taking a seat on on a rock that laid next to it. The pain now seemed more prominent and he snarled. His thick, dirty and tangled beard moving slightly. He put his hands on his thigh and began to run it, hoping to massage the pain out. Just made it worse.  
He opened up and reached into the bag, pulling out a nearly empty plastic bottle of water and a half full fifth of whiskey. He sipped the water, swirling it around in his mouth then swallowing it. A rare commodity to be had out in this desert. Then he cracked open his old friend and took a nice, long swig of it. It burned well. He had taken three more drinks like that before the pain in his leg numbed. He put the cap back on, then took another sip of the water and put them both back in the bag. He picked up his hat and said bag, and kept forging on.

The sun was setting on his back before he knew it. It dawned on him that he'd once again walked all day. _'What the hell am I walking towards...?'_ he thought to himself. But no. Thoughts like that wont do, so he pushed them out of his head. He didn't need to think. He didn't need to care about those thoughts. He just needed to walk.  
The device on his left arm suddenly gave him a jolt of vibration, letting him know it's scanners had picked up something near-by. Something alive. His hazy eyes cleared and his right hand shot down, pulling his revolver. He stayed perfectly still and listened. There was movement, a scuffing sound. Scuttling. Dirt and rocks being pushed.  
In-front of him, to his left, an object emerged from behind a small hill. He looked and beheld a typical sized Radscorpion, it's dark shell even greyed by the sun. He sighed a little in relief as the radiation addled monster made it's way forward and down the hill that was to the man's right.  
Despite the sigh of relief, he still found himself tense. Radscorpion's were nothing to take lightly. Their pincers could near sever a limb and their stingers pierce to the bone and inject enough venom to kill a Brahman.

It's dirt crusted legs scuttled one at a time across the ground, kicking up dust that was carried with a hot breeze into the setting sun. It's body's shell was scarred and scrapped up. Large gash marks in it from another animal, a fight he obviously won. The man holstered his gun and watched the warrior make it's way down the hill, possibly back to it's nest. He waited a moment, then made his way forward once more, the limp in his leg returning.  
The sky was lit with a crimson and golden hue as the sun set behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch it slip further down, the rest of the sky darkening with a kind of blue and black that made you feel a little emptier inside. And a little bolder. It would set in the matter of minuets. He thought he'd had more time. The little slip up, break and Radscorpion had seen to it that his time had come and gone.  
He laid his bag down in a small clearing on the side of the rocky and sand swept hill he was walking across. There was a rocky pass in-front of him, a upward slope to his left, a downward one to his right, and small path behind him. He listened closely, hearing the bugs and the howl of distant coyote's. They may be trouble, but they may also avoid him. All depended on how hungry they were.

He reached down to his left hand and pulled his torn and unbuttoned sleeve back, sliding his finger over a small dial on the side of the device attached to his arm. He turned it ever so slightly, brightening the screen to a dim but visible green glow. The image portrayed his skeleton, showing cracked bones and lacerations as well as the beginning of Radiation poisoning. He sighed, knowing he had maybe two bags of RadAway left in his bag. He'd have to scavenge, if he ever found anything man-made to scavenge. He slid his finger along the faded metal to a button and pressed it, turning on a bright yellowish light built into the device. He gave it one last look over, knowing he hadn't used it in a long while. He traced his finger over the "Pip-Boy 3000" trademarking at the top, wiping away the greasy soot and dust. Dried blood still clung to it's cracks.  
He went around gathering necessary items for a fire. Stones were easy to come by, and he made small fire pit. He had to go into his bag and pull out the rusted but recently sharpened machete and hack down some dried, dead tree limbs for the fire. He broke them up and laid them in the center of the stones, stuffing the cracks with tumbleweed and lighting it all with a lighter that-by the grace of God-still had fuel in it. It went up rather quickly, but quick burning was better then not at all.

Stripping himself of his coat, he folded it and laid it on the ground, preparing to use it as a pillow, and even grabbing a dragging blanket out from his bag. With it fell out a paper baggie of beef jerky he'd dried from a kill a few weeks ago. He grabbed it up and treated himself to a piece of it, sitting and watching the flames dance and listening to the wood crackle and pop as embers rose up.  
He finished up with the jerky and folded the bag back up, tossing it into his duffel-bag and zipping it shut again. He dusted off his hand then reached up, grabbing his hat and laying it beside him. It was at that moment, when the hat hit the ground, he heard a particular noise. Two sets of footsteps.

Not animal, either, too big. Too noisy to be a predator. Untrained hunters, maybe. From a local clan, perhaps. He'd no idea how far inward he'd traveled. One was coming in-front of him, the sound of gavel lightly shuffling gave it away. The other from behind him, the sound of sand falling gently down the hillside. His hand slid over his chapped leather holster and up to the handle of his six-shooter. Been a while sense he'd drawn while sitting down.  
To his surprise, a man came over the rocks in-front of him. He drew and the man's hands shot up, an expression of fear swept across his dirty face as he shook his head. "Don't shoot!" he begged quickly. Nothing ever good ever came from a stranger in the waste's walking up to you in the middle of the night. The man pulled the hammer back on his gun. "I's friendly, I swear!"

The man snarled and thought about standing up, but knew the one behind him hadn't moved an inch sense his partner started talking. Probably had a gun aimed at the back of his head. The man gritted his teeth in rage at the thought. "No one's friendly out here," He growled out-loud at the stranger. Thought about raising his voice louder so the friend could hear, but he'd thought it better to play the fool. "especially when they walk up on you in the dead of night. Who are you? Where'd you come from?"

The stranger gulped in fear. His legs had begun to shake a little and his dirty brow dampening with sweat. "My name's Timothy Barnell, I'm a farmer-or was-from the town just a few clicks up ahead! Mister, I ain't even got a blade on me! Them sons-of-bitches exiled me without a decent pare of shoes for cripes sakes!" He inhaled drastically after running out of breath on his last word.  
The man analyzed him, not sure of what to think. He wasn't about to lower his gun. "Alright, Timothy Barnell, you wanna explain what the hell you're doing walking up on a strangers camp in the dead of night? You're getting my good graces of speech, I should of put one in your head and let the crows and coyote's have ya."

"Please don't!" he begged and nearly backed away, putting his hands forward in a stop motion as he arched over. "I saw the glow from your fire and figured what the hell, I have nothing to lose! It was a stupid idea, I know, but...dammit I'm desperate!"  
The man squinted and bent his arm a little, playing as if he was starting to lower the gun. "Keep talking." He growled, still having the gun aimed at Timothy. "And if I think you're lying-."

"The town, Prosperous Springs, kicked me and my friend out because they said we'd stolen food and water for our selves. Said we'd taken it right out of their children's mouths and they'd starve and die of thirst because of us! Can you believe that?"  
The man huffed out a breath. "And did you?"  
The man's eyes widened. "And-and did I!?" He asked shocked with a hint of being offended. "You think I'm such a monster I'd feed myself over children? Innocent children? No I didn't steal their precious food and fucking water, their just a bunch of pent-up fucking liars who wanted the food I'd worked all year to grow! And my friends food too."

"He the one behind me?" The man asked, stilling the stranger. The stranger looked at him with a blank expression, lips parted and hands still up. But he could see it in his eyes. He was surprised. The stranger nodded, "Yes. That's him. Richard! Get your ass out here, he ain't no bandit!"

There was a rustle of a bush behind the man, but he didn't turn and look. Heavier footsteps then Timothy's came out and a burly fat-man with a brass plated and engraved lever-action rifle in his hands. He gave the man a wide birth, and tipped his hat to him. "How-do-ya-do, sir?"  
"This here's my best friend, Richard Camry." Timothy said, a little relaxed to have his friend by his side. Richard seemed nervous tho, probably sense the barrel of The Man's six shooter was now aimed at his wide gut. "Been my best-friend sense I was in diapers."

It'd been true too. Timothy had known Richard ever sense he could think back. Thirty something odd years of living right across from each-other and they'd grown to think of one another as brothers. Richard was more sophisticated then Timothy, he'd gone out of his way to buy and salvage pre-war magazines and books for any knowledge that would be useful to his survival, and the towns. And Timothy was the best hunter. Never once did he go out and not come home with a gecko or another critter. The town ate well because of him, despite his slower ways.  
Richard was obsessed with his books and Timothy was obsessed with the notion of one day, perhaps, starting a family with his childhood-sweetheart, Loretta May. She was a cute young thing, short with long blonde hair she almost always pulled up into a bun. She was the towns mid-wife, and was really quite friendly and well mannered. And any books Richard had already read or found but didn't need, he gave to Timothy so Timothy could give them to her and have something to talk about. She always seemed grateful, even kissed him on the cheek once out of excitement when he brought her a medical journal with a complete section on childbirth, natural and drugged. Timothy felt mighty special after that, and knew that with Richard anything was possible. But now, they were here.

The man nudged his head towards the repeating-rifle. "Thought you said you were unarmed." He growled in anger, straightening his arm. Richard and Timothy both tensed.  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! That thing? Hell, that's empty! We found it on a corpse in the desert on our way through, figured we could find or make bullets for it or sell it or...I dunno, use it as a bat or something."  
"Here..." Richard said and pointed the gun up, pressing the butt to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and it dry fired twice. He lowered it and looked at The Man. "See?"

The Man squinted again, but bent his arm again. The gun, it was someone's baby. It was way too well maintained, well taken care of, to be found in the desert on a corpse. It reminded him of his six shooters. He'd taken precious care with them, as had someone with that gun. "Where'd you say that town was?"  
Timothy balled his fist and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, looking behind it. "About a days walk that-a-way. I dunno if they'd welcome strangers, we rarely got any. Me and Richard were local boys, pillars of the community. Ain't that right?"

Richard nodded, his double chin behind smashed every-time he did. "That's right, I'm a agricultural researcher and Timothy here's a damned fine hunter."  
Timothy smiled at Richard. "Why thank ya, Rich." He said gleefully, hands still up. His expression morphed drastically when he looked back at The Man. It went to a somber and worried tone in a heartbeat. The Man gripped his gun. "Okay then..." He stated, lowering it completely and making the two relax. "Why don't ya take a seat. Plenty of room and plenty of fire."

"Oh, gladly." Timothy said with a happy chuckle as he moved closer with Richard. Richard diverged to the right and faced the edge of the cliff, undoing his fly and pulling his frank out to relieve himself over the edge. Timothy sat on a rock in-front of The Man, but it was a little off to his left. The Man looked slowly between the two. "So, sense were fast friends now, what's your story? You ain't no bandit or you woulda shot us by now. I'd...think."  
The man looked at him but kept silent. Slowly Timothy's smile faded. The sound of urine hitting the dry ground and the crackling of the fire was all that remained. He knew he had to think of something believable, and quick, so he looked at the fire-pit and said in a low tone, "I'm...a mercenary. From New Reno. Traveled out here to start fresh."

"Wow." Timothy chuckled with impression and a smile, his green eyes gleaming. "You're a hell of a long way from home. Hey, if you're a merc, are you for hire? We'd sure as hell like the protection getting to Sandy Meadows. An empty gun ain't gonna get us far."

"Sure ain't." Richard said finishing up. He tucked it back in and zipped up, all with one hand while the other held the rifle. He wasn't putting it down, wasn't letting it out of his sight. But he was holding it all wrong, like he'd never even fired a gun in his life. Or like he was afraid of it going off, despite it's obvious superior craftsmanship. He moved over a little and looked off into the distance, back still turned to The Man.

"I dunno." The Man stated. "I kinda...wander alone lately. Trying to find something." He glanced from Richard to Timothy to see they were both a little too calm. Hell, Richard had his back turned to The Man. If the positions had been swapped, he'd never turn his back to a stranger, especially an armed one.  
Timothy nodded, hands folded into each-other and arms resting on his knees. The fire illuminated his hands, and The Man took notice. They weren't completely hardened, cracked, and callused with dirt clinging to them. Not like a farmers. But his thumbs and index fingers had calluses. His trigger fingers and hammer fingers. "That's a nice hat you got there. Seen some ware tho." Timothy chuckled. He was just...staring. At the hat, like it was about the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. He glanced at The Man then down at the hat again. The Man squinted briefly, knowing something was wrong. It felt like Timothy wanted him to look at his own hat.

"That rifle," The Man spoke up, drawing Timothy's attention upward. "Sure is mighty fine. If you found some bullets for it, I'm sure it'd take a Gecko's head clean off, at a good distance too." There was silence, but Timothy was smiling. The Man couldn't see what Richard was doing. "I have a question, Timothy."

"Ask away, friend." Timothy stated, sitting up straighter and laying his hands to his sides, palms flat on the rock near his ass, as if he was holding himself up.  
"You said you were farmers, you and Richard...but Richard said he was a water scientist and you were a hunter. Which explains why you have calluses on your trigger fingers."

Timothy maintained a smile and nodded. "We did a little of both." he stated. "Got to have water to farm, got to have meat to eat while you're waiting. Can't specialize now-a-days."  
"Right, right..." The Man said nodding, looking down at the fireplace. There was another moment of silence before The Man deeply inhaled and looked up. "I have another question."  
"Then please, ask." Timothy retorted in a very well mannered way.

The man looked up at him and paused yet again. "Did you think I was just gonna believe you and not put the obvious facts together, or were you two just hoping to get an easy target?" Timothy kept his smirk bur narrowed his eyes to a beady quality. "Your friend doesn't know the barrel of that gun from the stock, a gun which you possibly did take off a corpse. A new one, tho, not a skeleton in the sands. And you have a piece tucked somewhere on you too. So think about this...how fast do you two limp-cocked morons think you can draw to beat me? Because, I promise you, even if it's three seconds or two...you ain't gonna beat me."

There was pure silence. It felt as if even the insects and animals had stopped making sound. Timothy wasn't smiling anymore, his heart was racing and there was a serious look about his face. Richard was ever so slowly raising the rifle, silently praying The Man didn't see it. All while The Man's finger-tips caressed the grips of his six-shooters.

Then, all in one quick flash, Timothy's hand shot behind his back and grasped the handle of a 9mm handgun, while Richard spun around and cocked the rifle. Timothy swung his gun out, and Richard raised his. Then two shots rang out into the night sky, filling the air and voiding it of it's deafening silence.

Timothy instantly fell back onto the rocks, a splash of blood across the rock and onto the dirt behind him. His body slumped over it, limp, a hole directly through his heart. Richard stumbled and spat blood, rifle still in hand. The man pulled back his hammer, but as soon as he did Richard fell to his knees. Then collapsed forward, a hole directly through his chest as well. Silence filled the air, with the smell of gun-smoke and coppery blood.  
The Man stood and holstered both his guns at the same time, then reached down and picked up his hat and his coat. He shook the dust off and swung it around him, slipping on the duster. He shook the blanket off and folded it up, stuffing it back in the bag then zipping it up and tossing it over his shoulder.

He walked over to Timothy and grabbed up his 9mm, putting it in a spare pocket in the bag. He felt up his pockets, but there was nothing. He turned and started walking towards the dead lump of fat and pool of blood underneath that was Richard. He got closer, setting his eyes on the prized rifle that Richard had collapsed on.  
He grasped the fat-man's meaty shoulder and grunted as he rolled him over. Suddenly the barrel of the gun thrust forward and fired. The bullet tore through The Man's side and made him stumble back, but pull his six-shooter at the same time and fire. The bullet hit Richards forehead and split it open like a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon.

The man caught his balance and groaned, touching his side with his left hand. He held it out and gazed at the crimson red that coated it. He had no Stimpacks, no gauze, no pain-killers. Just a bottle of whiskey. He holstered the gun and shuffled forward with a groan, grabbing the rifle off the now-dead-man, and begun shuffling on his way. Into the dark, dark night. Blood running down his tattered cloths, and pain coursing through him. _"One...day's...walk."_ he told himself as he forged on. _"One...day's...walk."_


	3. Chapter 3 Ranger Grey

The bartender wiped down the bar, scrubbing at an old stain on the polished wood and hoping today would be the day it finally came up out of the shine. But it didn't, and he sighed, moving down the bar with his damp rag. "Christie, you got the tables?" he asked his niece who was on the other side of the restaurant putting mugs onto a plastic tray. "Yeah, uncle Vic. I got 'em."  
"Thank ya, sweety."

The door opened and Vic looked up, smiling at Alison and tossing the rag over his shoulder as she smiled back and walked up to the bar. "Hey Vic." She said in her whiskey roughened but still honey sweet voice. "Can I get a Nuka, please?"  
"Sure thing." He replied and went through the double doors behind the bar. He appeared a short time later with an ice cold Nuka Cola and a smile. He put it on the counter then turned and began cleaning off and reorganizing bottles of assorted alcohol on the shelves. "So, how's the morning treating you?"

She took a sip of the cold pop, then shrugged. Reaching up she ran her fingers threw the pony-tail that held her dirty blonde hair. "I haven't slept well in years, Vic, you know that." She groaned as she settled even more down on the old bar-stool. "I'm waiting for everyone to wake up so we can get some more work done."  
Vic huffed out a breath in obvious disagreement. "You need to rest." he glanced over his shoulder. "You run a well oiled machine here, you need a break."  
She gently shook her head in protest. Mumbling "Not if I want the machine to stay well oiled." then taking another sip.

The front door opened behind her, causing her and Vic to look. A familiar face stood in the doorway. "Hey Carter." Alice said with a smile. The silver eyed ghoul smirked and nodded, skeletal hand gripping the edge of the door. Vic nudged his head towards Carter's direction. "Would you mind leaving that door open? The place needs aired out."  
"Sure thing." He said in a voice that was as rough as sandpaper and bitter as medicine. He walked up and sat a stool away from Alison, his leather armor creaking as he rested his arms on the counter.

Vic turned around and smiled. "The usual?" He asked, to which Carter simply nodded. It was some what of a ritual for him to come to the diner every morning and order a Sunset Sarsaparilla and a rye breaded ham sandwich. He grabbed the pouch off his hip and pulled out five bottle caps from it, laying them on the counter in a stack.  
Alison took another swig, feeling the soda fizzle in her mouth and throat. "Already got your armor on? You're an early riser." She took another small sip, almost out of nervousness.

He glanced at her. Carter was usually a man of few words, especially around people he didn't know, like, or trust. And after all his years here he was still not sure if she'd protect him from the town if they decided they didn't want a Ghoul living among them. "Yeah, well, I feel like I should _sleep_ in this armor some days."

She kept a blank expression for a moment before frowning slightly and wrinkling her brow. "You know I would never let that happen, right?"  
He looked at her and stared into her deep, dark-blue eyes for a minuet, saying nothing. Then looked forward at Vic coming through with a plate and a cold beverage. "Here ya go. Enjoy." Vic said laying them both down in-front of him. Carter smiled and gave a nod, picking up his sandwich and biting into it as Vic scooped up his caps.

For most of Alison's adult life, Carter had been in the town. She would love to say time hadn't changed him a bit, that he was still the same old rotting skeleton he had always been. But that sadly wasn't true. Time had made him harder, and a lot more stressed. The town had grown up and become mature and bitter. In his experience, it was a town filled with bigots. Even if he was no different then any human, besides harder on the eyes.  
His skin was torn and flaked off leaving red and grey mixed with a little yellow on what was left of his withering body. His nose was gone, his eyes were silvered. He'd become skeletal with wrinkling and dissipating muscle. Said it didn't hurt, be he also said ' _I dunno if I'll ever get used to the glowing piss_.' She didn't know if he was joking or not, or if he even still had everything down there.  
His fingernails had long sense gone, and what was left of his blonde hair was thin, wispy and receding into some form of a widow's peak. He had a crude sense of humor, and often kept to himself. Over the years, he found that to be best. Less attention drawn to 'the freak' and more to keeping the town alive.

"Carter," she sighed and looked at him. "Everyone in the town is grateful for your service. If it wasn't for you, a lot of us wouldn't be here."  
Carter was silent. Simply contempt eating his sandwich and drinking his soft-drink. Vic looked at him for a moment then smiled. "Yeah, I mean, I still haven't forgotten that time Trudy got sick and you ran around the desert looking for some damned flower. Only to find it, bring it back, and-."

"Have the doc burn the goddamned thing and have her breath it in, I know." Carter said, his voice growling a little more then he'd meant for it too. "I still haven't forgiven that white haired son-of-a-bitch for that."  
Vic chuckled and patted the bar near Carter's arm. "Look, ain't nuthin' gonna come to what you're thinking." He said, causing Carter to look up from his meal. "And, god forbid, it does...you come here. I'll keep ya safe."  
Carter grabbed his drink and brought the bottle to his lips. "I feel so fuckin' reassured." he mumbled and took a swig, causing Vic to laugh.

Vic's eyes suddenly shot up to the doorway and his smile faded. Alison kept hers as she looked over her shoulder, but it too faded when she saw the mysterious figure in the doorway. Carter saw him in the reflection of the cracked mirror behind the bottles in-front of him.  
The figure was no more then a black silhouette against the bright sunlight behind him. His left hand was pressed to his ribs, and a ratty old hat covered his eyes. His right hand seemed to be draping down to the gun on his side. It made the whole room nervous. "What can I get for ya, stranger?" Vic said wearily, not sure if he wanted to serve possible trouble running into town.

Alison's eyes traced him up and down. Looking over the length of his duster she noticed that from the tip of it and off the ankle of his jeans, blood was dripping down onto the dirty wooden floor. The stranger dryly mumbled something no one could hear. "What was that?" Vic asked, turning his head slightly to hear the man.  
Christie came around the corner, brushing her hands off on her plaid, button up shirt. She patted Carter on the back, then noticed the air in the room was thicker and tenser then usual. She looked over and saw The Man standing in the doorway, clutching his side. Her heart began to race as she knew she was the closest to him.

" _I..._ " The man managed the mutter and take a step. A step which he instantly regretted. The ragged and dirty man fell forward, and Christie reached out and grabbed him, softening his fall to the ground. Carter sprang up, one hand grasping the mans arm to help him down and the other resting on the .44 magnum holstered to his hip.

" _Son of a bitch...!_ " Carter mumbled seeing the hole in the mans side. He and Christie looked at each-other, a look of pure fear swept across her eyes. He laid there, chest barely rising and dried, cracked lips mumbling softly and incoherently. "Go get the doctor, tell him to get ready for a serious gunshot wound, _now_!" she wasted no time leaping up and running out the door. Alison took command, walking up and kneeling where Christie formerly was.

She grabbed the brim of the mans hat and pulled it off him, laying it beside his head. It barely helped to identify him. His hair was curly and down to shoulder-length. Dirty, greasy and brown. And his beard was the exact same, down to the middle of his chest and matted to all hell. What she could see of his face was covered in dirt and sweat. "What's your name?" She asked as she took his hand in hers.  
He squeezed it weakly as his eyes slowly shut and opened again. He mumbled something inaudible, so she leaned in closer to hear. _"Star...Ran...ger...ra..._ " It took her a moment to piece together his breathy and faint whispering. But when she did, it hit her like a bag of bricks. Her eyes widened a little and her heart felt as if it had stopped beating for a moment. She looked at the man who's eyes were half open and breathing was faint when the doc walked in.

"Is he still breathing!?" the old man demanded an answer as he walked up and knelt down, putting two fingers on the man's wrist. "His heartbeat is faint, there's a damn good chance he's not going to make it." he looked up at Alison who was simply staring at the man's face with bewilderment and confusion. "Do you want us to use medical supplies on this stranger? Or just make him comfortable for his departure?"  
She looked up at the doctor with shock in her eyes. "Give him everything." She mumbled. "Do everything. See to it this man survives, doctor. Please."  
He simply gave a nod and grabbed the end of the portable gurney that Christie had wheeled in with him. He pulled it over to him and Carter helped lift the stranger up and place him on it, then Christie and the doc disappeared out the door. Alison was left on her knees on the dirty floor, staring down at a pool of blood. Vic sighed and bowed his head, leaning against the counter. Carter was staring out the door with a sense of confusion about him. He looked down at Alison and reached down, offering a hand. She didn't look. Didn't even notice. She simply stared down and looked into the blood.

Carter and Alison entered the clinic and felt it's silent panic as soon as they walked through the door. There was quick movements in one of the private rooms and the clanking of utensils.  
Going against her better judgement, Alison forced herself forward and slowly turned the door knob to the private room and opened it. The doctor already had the man laid out with his shirt undone. He grabbed a stimpack off the table behind him and jabbed into the man's side, near where the bullet hole was. " _Doc..._ " Alison said somberly.

He pulled the emptied needle out and threw it in the garbage. "You should leave." He grovelled, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a bottle of peroxide, a sticky pad, and a roll of gauze. "This isn't going to be pretty. It never is, but especially not this time."  
Christie squeezed past Alison with a cooler in her hands. She laid it on the counter and moved out of the doc's way. Alison inhaled sharply and spoke up "How bad is it?"

The dock sighed, cutting away what was left of his shirt. "I ran the scanner over him before you came in, see if their was any internal bleeding or bullet fragments left. The bullet went clean through, didn't hit anything vital, but he lost a lot of blood. On-top of that-and this is just my medical opinion-this man has more scar tissue then he has actual skin left. He has three or four fractured ribs, a hair-line-fractured femur and a cracked humerus in his left arm that's been healing a while. Did a brain scan and made sure there wasn't any swelling, thinking maybe he just had a nasty fall after whoever shot him. No swelling, no bruising, nothing."  
He looked over at Alison as he put on latex gloves and a mask. "So what does that tell you? Because it tells me our mystery man has been in more wounding accidents then he's had time to rest and recover. He's a scrapper, and he's lucky he's not dead. Dehydration, blood loss, signs of heat stroke, sleep deprivation, and the beginning signs of starvation. He's about fify pounds lighter then he should be." He looked over at her. "You still want me to dump everything in him?"

She looked down at the dirty, mangy, and skinny man laying on the table. Maybe the good doctor was right, maybe this man wasn't worth saving. Maybe he was bullshitting her, heard the legends and figured his best shot was his silver tongue. But there was this feeling, deep inside her gut...this feeling of knowing there was more. Knowing that the picture was much larger then she knew she could see.

She looked up at the doc and nodded, and he gave one nod back. "Then I'm going to have to ask that everyone but Christie leave the room. I'll need an assistant, and you've helped me successfully before."  
Alison turned, but never kept her eyes off the stranger. Even as she walked away. Carter closed the door and sighed, bowing his head and shaking it. "That was a damned essay on how much bad shit can happen to you out in the waste's, and you still want to save him?" He asked, turning his bowed head and looking at her.

She gave a moment of silence, then glanced behind her at the table, seeing the man's belongings. Including the hat Carter had thrown down when he came in. She backed up to the table and grabbed the handle of one of the six shooters in the holster, pulling it out and holding it up. The silver shinned, even in the dim light of the waiting area.  
He looked on at it, straightening his posture and turning his body. Part of him thought the gun looked familiar. But it was the part that was unsure. Like he'd been told about it, or maybe seen it long ago.

He walked forward and got a closer look at it, seeing the fine craftsmanship that went into the piece. The engravings were graceful and elegant, but yet depicted something strong and forceful. The ivory handles were well worn, but still looked smooth to the touch. And the silver was polished to such a shine that you could bet money it would glow in the dark, and swear you were right. "I've seen that gun..." He mumbled as he squinted and tilted his head a little.  
She lowered it and slid it back into it's holster. "We all have." She replied and strapped it down, turning towards the ghoul and looking him straight in the eyes. "That's Ranger Grey's six-shooters."

Carter's face went from wonder to shock and realization. She was right, that's were he had heard of them. In stories told in saloons and pubs everywhere he went. Drunken locals, drifters, and just hard-working men and women settling down in the evening. All talked about a mysterious man, dressed in all black, who carried two silver six-shooters and went around, righting wrongs. They all called him by one simple title.

" _The Lone Star Ranger..."_ he muttered in awe. She nodded her head and patted the desk, signifying that those were his belongings. "I thought he was just a myth...something everyone told each-other so they wouldn't lose hope in humanity, in honor and dignity."  
She shook her head. "Apparently he's not. Apparently he's very much real, and he's in our town, half dead. Now, I dunno about you, but as Mayor of this town I don't want to see Prosperous Springs became the next Deadwood. I'm not going to be the woman who lead the town in which the The Lone Star Ranger died."

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Now I see why you want to keep him alive so much...Jesus Christ..." Carter stood there in a daze, not knowing exactly what to do. And sense he didn't know, he figured he'd ask. "Okay, you've got my attention. What do you need me to do?"

She ran her hands over her face as she thought for a moment, then gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well," She started out. "For one you don't tell anyone about this. If the town knew, I got a feeling there would be asshole's willing to test the legend. And two, you need to find out exactly what the hell happened to him. Ask the guards on the tower what they saw, where he came from. Then take a hike out to where they saw him come from and see what you can find. You're a good tracker, and I only trust you with this."

He nodded and took a step forward, only to stop himself and look at her. "And what about you? What are you going to do?"  
She gave him a glance, a look of determination mixed with worry in her eyes. Eyes which settled back on the door which the man was behind. "I'm gonna stay here." She mumbled her reply. "Make sure he doesn't die. And keep everyone back if he's really as...explosive... as they say he is."

Carter nodded. "You got it, boss." he replied and made for the door. He stopped at the table she was standing by and looked over at his gear. Reaching out, he grabbed the brim of the ragged and flimsy cowboy hat and picked it up. Carefully he placed it on his head, feeling it fit him perfectly. It had nearly lost his form, had many pieces taken out of the brim and a few holes in it, but he knew he was wearing a piece of new-age-history. He looked at Alison and shrugged. "It's for the sun, it's hot out there."  
She smirked and shook her head, her one blonde bang that hung down moving in-front of her eye. "Sure." She chuckled. Then her head nudged towards the door and Carter was on his way out, without another word. But Alison was left with an unsavory feeling. Like their trouble with this legendary dead man was just the beginning of a much bigger pit-fall.

The Strider's hooves thundered across the ground, kicking up dirt in it's wake. It's skin was hot and like stiff leather, a dirty shade of brown and wrinkly. It's yellow eyes kept focused on the horizon ahead.  
Carter looked up from his somewhat relaxed riding stance on the saddle and saw crows circling a ridge on a nearby hill. He pulled back on the reins in his hands, the horse pulling it's withered head back and let out a growling, raspy whinny. It galloped to a stop, allowing Carter to get better view of aerial, swarming mass of buzzards and crows.

He reached to his side and pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt. Pressing the button he spoke up with a grovel and dry voice. "Hey Alison, I think I found something." there was a short pause and he whipped the reins, causing the strider the whinny again and start a gentle sprint forward. "What did you find?" Alison's voice finally came through.

He kept his eyes moving on the distance ahead, looking for anything suspicious. If that man was really The Ranger, then whoever shot him was either dead on that hilltop or was still around and angry as hell. "A mass feeding frenzy of bugs, buzzards and ravens. My caps are on something being dead as hell on-top of that hill. I'm going to check it out."

The Strider was already there by the time she replied. He swung his leg off the saddle and slid down off the saddled beast. He pulled the reins forward and lead it up to a dead tree where he tied it down so it wouldn't run off and leave him. "Roger," Alison suddenly said through the slight static of the walkie-talkie, making Carter jump and reach for his gun. He sighed afterwords. "Just keep an eye out, please."

He cautiously made his way up the hill, seeing skid marks on the ground where it looked like someone had half slid and half tumbled down the hill. His guess was the ranger, seeing how he had some fractured bones.  
Carter couldn't help but to get an eerie feeling the closer he got to reaching the top. The sounds of insects and the cawing of crows had, for some reason, put him on edge. Perhaps it was because he had related the noises to death, and it was the thing that killed them that really put him on edge.

With the sun blaring down he had met the stench of death before he even got to the top. He reacted harshly, dry heaving then pulling out a red bandana from his back pocket to cover his nose and mouth with it as he got up to the top. There was no describing that old familiar stench. Other then to say that, if you believed in hell, you'd believe that's what it smelled of.  
He stopped at the top to see two lumps of meat and cloth. Covered in fly's, ants and surrounded by bloody beaked vultures and crows. It was a natural feeding frenzy of the desert. Those scavengers ate better then the people did, with how many died out this way. He was disgusted to say the least, and it reflected in his rotting face.  
His hand went down to his revolver and he pulled it, pulling the hammer back with a click as he raised the gun, his other hand still holding the bandana over the place where his nose used to be and his mouth. He fired once into the air and every crow there cawed and made a desperate attempt to fly away.  
The vultures took their times, grabbing beak-fulls of flesh and tearing it away from the bodies. Carter pointed his gun forward and fired again, hitting a rock and sending shrapnel of rock flying in all directions. The buzzards made very little argument or surprise as they grabbed one last mouthful of what they could and flew off. He was tempted to shoot a few down, the disgusting hell-swarm they were.

Now nothing remained but the fly's and some ants, but there was nothing he could do about those. He loosely holstered his gun and made his way forward, giving glances to his left and right out of paranoia. Because the closer he got, the more he was assured those lumps of meat and tattered cloth were indeed people.

The doc came out of the private room, and Alison looked over at him with her brow raised. He was wiping his wet hands off on a rag. "He's stable. Though out cold." he replied, giving her a breath of relief. "He's going to need a lot of bed-rest and a lot of time to recover. I've sewn him up, stopped any internal bleeding. We went through a good deal of supplies and time for this man. I hope he was worth it, Alison."

She nodded and stood up. The Doc went to his own room, probably to drink from that bottle of whiskey he kept in his drawer. And Alison went into the strangers room, closing the door behind her. There was a stagnant silence in that room, the kind you rarely heard. Nothing but his breathing and the low hum of electricity from the machines he was hooked up too.  
She slowly moved over to the bed, then took a seat in the comfy-chair beside it, looking over at him with analyzing eyes. He was a broad and somewhat muscular man, but rail thin. He probably hadn't had a decent meal in ages. His hair was long, dirty and shaggy. Bangs clear down past his chin and the rest just a little past his shoulders. It was a tangled mess, just like the beard that hung down below his chest.

Scars; small and large, thin and thick, deep and shallow. All lined his body. Claw marks, stab wounds, bullet holes. He'd seen his fare share of fights. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. If he was who she truly believed he was, and the stories were right, then they were right about him having a nasty temper and cold demeanor.  
The walkie-talkie suddenly burst with static and a gravely voice. "Hey Alison, I've got good news, great news, and bad news." Carter spoke up, the sound of gravel crunching with his footsteps.

She grabbed her walkie and raised it up. "Go in order then." She replied, looking over at the man who truly was out cold.  
"So I'm at the ridge, and the good news is I found our mystery man's attackers. There more dead then dead can be. A heart shot a piece and one of them has one in his head, or what's left of it. I'm guess that one was alive enough to get a shot off, and lucky enough to hit his target. Before his target got pissed and burst his head like a grape."  
Her eyes went down to the gauze wrapped wound on his side. The cleanest thing about him. "The great news?"

He chuckled, and she could just picture that big yellow toothed grin. "The two guys are Timothy Barnell and Richard fuckin' Camry."  
Her eyes got large and a burst of excitement hit her as she straightened up in the chair. "Are you serious!? Y-You're sure!?"  
"I'm positive, Aly." Carter said with confidence. "Fuckers got what they deserved, and I'm leaving 'em for the birds. I didn't see your rifle though. They may have pawned it in one of the towns nearby or stashed it somewhere. Sorry."

She shook her head with a smile. "Don't worry about it. That damned thing always turns up one way or the other. But...what's the bad news?"  
Carter got onto his strider and made it turn around, then gallop forward. He pressed the button and the sound of it's hooves thundering across the ground rang through. "There was footprints and strider tracks all around there. They were recent, but I can't tell how recent. Either they saw the birds like I did, or they were close enough to hear the gunshots. Either way, I doubt anything good is going to come from this. If I were you I'd double the guard for the next week or two."

She bowed her head, blonde bangs hanging in-front of her eyes. " _Shit..._ " she mumbled then raised her head. "Will do, Carter. Just get your flaky ass back here in one piece, we're closing down for the night."  
"Already on my way. See you soon."

She threw the walkie-talkie down on a table and run her hands over her face. Thoughts of worry for the town flooded into her mind as she sat there. They weren't a big town by any means, last they checked it was maybe two hundred and fifty or three hundred people. If there were raiders or bandits about, that didn't exactly bode well for them.

Suddenly the mystery man's body jolted in the bed beside her, causing her to look over at him. The scale on his heartbeat monitor was fluctuating fast and his breathing was faster. With her eyes glued onto him she started to get up to get the doc, thinking maybe he was having some sort of heart attack. But as she started to, his lips moved and his deep voice grovelled out a name. " _Jenny..._ " and he twitched some more. It dawned on her suddenly that he was having a nightmare or dream. And she settled back into her seat, still staring at him with a peculiar look of bewilderment. With every instance, this man became more of a mystery to her.

She got up and turned out the lights, then settled back into the chair. Laying on her side and watching him twitch every now and then, she slowly dazed off into a sleep that overcame her. Her last thoughts were of wonderment. One thing that echoed through her darkened mind. " _What is he dreaming of, I wonder?_ "


	4. Chapter 4 In Dreams

_"I close my eyes, then I drift away. Into the magic night, I softly say. A silent prayer like dreamers do. Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you."_

Roy Orbison's smooth and higher pitched voice sang lightly from the radio built into the Pip-Boy on the man in black's arm. He mumbled along with the lyrics as he pulled the three boxes of shells out of a safe he found behind a bookshelf in the master bedroom of a burned-out-pre-war home.

He stopped his mumbling and wrinkled his brow at the safe, which only had paper-work in it now. "Three boxes of bullets and no gun?" He muttered to himself. Maybe he'd find it around the house somewhere. e highly doubted someone had come through and taken the gun but left the precious ammo behind.  
He grabbed up the duffel bag he'd be hauling around for a few months now and laid it on the bed. The bathroom door to his right was shut, and he began wondering if perhaps there was a medical kit inside. He left his bag on the bed and mumbled along with the lyrics once again as he walked across the room to the door.

He opened the door and stepped into the grimy bathroom, still mumbling to himself as the song carried on. Looking to his left he found himself eye height with a dirty medical kit still stuck to thee wall. He smirked and walked into the room and turned, his attention focused solely on the first-aid-kit.

He undid the latch and opened it up, collecting the four shots of Med-X, three Stimpacks, and some buffout from the kit. He glanced to his right, barely noticing the sight that had been next to him the whole time. He had looked back to the kit, and it took a second or two before he started to question himself.

He turned his head and looked across the bathroom at the dirty and broken bathtub with a old and greyed skeleton laying in it. Shreds of cloths still clung to its skeletal remains. His eyes scanned the area, seeing shards and bits of skull and stains on the floor and wall. A .32 caliber revolver was clutched in the skeletons hand, the same gun that was supposed to be in the safe. The top of it's skull was blown out leaving a large stain on the wall behind it and a hole in the tile.

 _"Too bad it only seems, it only happens in my dreams. Only in dreams. In beautiful dreams."_ The song drew to a bitter sweet end, and all he could do was stare at the sight. One final move, a desperate act to save himself from whatever horror he had befallen or wanted to avoid all together. The only parts of history that remained in this world, were scene's like this.

He three the .32 caliber into the duffel bag, then zipped it up and put the strap around his torso, wearing the bag on his back. It was then he noticed the absence of music in the room. The pipboy was now only broadcasting static. He wrinkled his brow and raised his arm, looking down at the green digital wording and numbers on the screen.

He stared at the radio station for a moment, listening to the constant stream of static. He found that it was making him more and more sleepy the longer he listened to it. It was deep and rushing, like what old pre-war books he read described a river sounding like. He could almost picture it before him, sprawled out across the land. Flowing ever constantly.

He lost himself in it. And was dramatically pulled away from this intoxicating thought by the sudden bursts of beeping coming from the device. His eyes cleared, as well as his mind, and he looked down at it with curiosity. It had never made that sound before, at-least not his knowledge. He searched it over for a moment before something dawned on him.

The bursts of beeping, they were perfectly timed in a repeat. Three fast beeps, then three longer beeps, then three fast ones again. Then a pause, and repeat the same thing again and again. He knew this pattern from somewhere, although he couldn't remember where from, or what it truly was. But he figured whatever be the case, it'd involve him hitting the road to either find it or leave to get away from it. So he strapped on the duffel-bag around his back and exited the room, then the house.

Once stepping out onto the street, below the overcast skies and oddly cool temperatures, he breathed deep of the fresh air. He hadn't realized how musky smelling it had been in that house. Dark and dank, just like all the rest. He doubted he'd ever seen a house that wasn't, besides from a survivor's shack.  
He looked to his left down the empty street. He was on the edge of a small suburban housing district. Rows and rows of ruined pre-war houses. He'd searched twelve or thirteen as of so far, but didn't know if he should keep going. He'd found little, other then rad roaches and skeleton's.

The beeping cut through his train of thought once again, and he looked down at his right arm. He'd sworn he heard the beeping before, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it meant. He raised his hand and stared at the device on his wrist, listening and looking at the compass which had him facing west, and the compass to the far right, which showed him the broadcasting location of the station he was currently listening too. Whatever the beeping was, maybe he could fix it and get some music playing again. So he turned to the south, and began walking.

Hills rolled by him as he followed a narrow dirt path up a rocky hill, the beeping sounding as if it were getting louder and louder. He kept an ever vigilant eye out for anything and everything that could be around him. Part of what kept him alive for these grueling thirty two years was his paranoia and training. He kept his eyes ever searching the horizon, and his ears open to any sounds carried on the wind.  
His hand raised and he checked the compass pointing towards the signal. A hundred or so meters off. He looked up and could see the top of the broadcasting tower, and it was somewhat reassuring. Even if he had a steep hill to climb. And during that walk is when it hit him. The beeping. He knew what that pattern was, where he had heard it from. It was Morse Code for S.O.S.

He was half way up when he heard the one thing he didn't want to hear. A gunshot. From a 10mm pistol perhaps. There was shouting from a couple men, then series of shots from the pistol. ' _Shit..._ ' he grumbled and pushed his blackened-leather duster back, tucking it behind his holster and pulled the polished silver revolver strapped to his hip.

A burst of automatic gun-fire erupted, blending with the sound of the singular pistol. He sped up, sprinting up the hill but keeping his head down. Soon only the automatic gun-fire was left, and that ended soon after as-well.  
He reached the top of the hill and crouched down, looking across a short and rocky distance to the gated and fenced off radio station. The gate was wide open and a mohawk clad man in complete make-shift 'armor' stood in the gateway, back turned to the wastes and staring at the radio-station. The whole station was crawling with men and woman of the same like.

Raiders, or as in these parts they call themselves Marauders. They were all the same, all across the waste's. Nothing but cruel, ruthless men and woman who answered to no laws, no conscience morality, and no man. They were roaming gangs of the worst kins of scum. The kind who murdered, and tortured people for fun. Raping, burning, and slaughtering where-ever they could. They were the kind of people that made the man in black's blood boil.

He pulled his other pistol, and pulled the hammer's back on both of them.

The marauder at the gate hate a rotten toothed and wicked grin as he looked at his fellowmen do what they willed. A couple of them were checking corpses for anything valuable, and one near the house was fucking the corpse of a woman. One raider was half way up the radio tower, but wasn't looking around. With an excited tone she was shouting down at the guys on the ground that they "Finally struck pay-dirt with this place!" then laughed, turning and looking the wrong direction, out into the desert planes, her pigtails swaying.

The cold metal barrel of a revolver pressed against the shaved back head of the mohawk guard. His smile faded and body stiffened. Two seconds, and he was frozen with fear. Two seconds and everything he had ever done, everyone he had ever know, ever choice ever made and every second ever lived ran through his mind. And it all mattered worth shit. His life amounted to nothing but horror on a degree that only Satan knew. It all flashed before him, and at the end he saw it. Darkness. Where he'd remain for eternity.  
To the others, the gunshot could have been an explosion it was so loud. And it was somewhat of an explosion. Of blood and shards of bone, lumps of brain, and the forehead and left eye of their friend blowing outwards and showering down on the ground. Everyone turned and looked, only to barely see any of this.

His body dropped, but before even that the Man in Black had his other revolver raised and aimed at the man having his way with the woman's corpse. With the pull of a trigger, the hammer fell forward, and the center of the gawking man's face caved inward. Bone breaking and flesh pulling and tearing inward. Sense the bullet hit directly on the man's nose, it no longer existed. It's skin pulled into gaping cavity of his face, and tore it's way out of the back of his head, splattering the same concoction as the first on the wall of the building and ground.

That's when the others sprang to life. Grabbing and aiming their guns. The man in black ran to his left for the cover of a boulder next to the gate. Bullets crashed into the back of the stone, sending shards of it flying and a fine dust into the air. He recalled the position of the other three, but couldn't count on how many there could have been in the building. He'd have to move fast or risk being out numbered and overthrown.

He swung around the corner and crouched to one knee at the same, guns raised and at the ready. One aimed up and the other to the right, and he fired both nearly at the same time. The one aimed up hit the woman in the throat, tearing the side of her neck out with it. Blood jetted from the severed jugular and she fell back against the tower's railing, tipping over it and off the back of the tower.  
The next bullet hit it's target in the shoulder blade and shattered it, sending the man topping to his right and to the ground. The third marauder was making a run for it, to the right which was the direction of the building. Wasn't the first time The Man had his prey run, not even close. Wont be the last either.

He pointed one gun at the man and fired. The bullet shredded through the side of the sprinting man's ribs and through his heart, coming out the other side. He fell hard to the ground, dust rising up around where he impacted. The raider with the busted shoulder began to get back up, and one more raider ran out of the building with a shotgun.  
The man took a quick aim and fired, hitting the shotgun wielder in the upper chest. He flew off his feat and slammed back down onto the ground with a plume of dust of his own. The Man walked forward, boots crunching into the gravel and eyes set on the doorway. There had to be more.

The man with the shoulder wound finally got to his feet. He wasn't sure how he was going to raise his gun, but he knew he was. He had to. With one hand he began to raise his assault-rifle in one final desperate attempt to slay the killer of his friends. He may succumb to his wounds later as he didn't know of any doctor's in the area. But he was going to kill that stranger.  
The Man glanced, then his right arm raised, aiming the gun at the shoulder wounded man without a second look. He pulled the trigger and the bullet sped through the man's chest and sent him toppling.

All seemed quite now, suspiciously so. Only noise he heard was his boots crunching on the ground, and the shotgun man choking on his own blood. The Man made sure to veer a little to the left and point his gun down, shooting the man in the head as he walked by and ending his suffering. Now there was pure silence.

He approached the doorway and leaned against the outside of it, listening carefully. He knew this couldn't be over, they had to have left one man for an ambush. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Held it for a second. Then opened them and let it out. Gripping his guns tightly he swung around the corner with them raised.  
A raider in the back of the room already had his hunting rifle raised, butt pressed to his shoulder and finger on the trigger. It was going to come down to timing here. Down to who would shoot first. Victor walks away alive. The Man was hell-bound to walk away the victor, just like every other time before then. This was a game he never lost.

But before anything else happened, a gunshot that came from neither man rang out. The raider's head recoiled to his left, blood and brain spraying out of the side of it. The Man had fired a split second afterwords, and hit the raider between the eyes sending his head recoiling back as well, with a shower of blood on the wall behind him.

The man swung his guns to the left and a small sob screamed out in a desperate plea to get the man to stop. His guard lowered, and the fire in his eyes died to sympathy as he heard crying and sobbing coming from under a desk to the back left side of the room. He lowered his guns and holstered the left one, wrinkling his brow slightly and taking a step forward. "Hello...?" he asked carefully.  
There was nothing but sobbing as he drew closer and closer to the tables. He put his left hand on the top of his black cowboy hat and took it off, kneeling down on one knee and laying it on the ground next to him. "Don't shoot me, now." he said cautiously. "I ain't here to hurt you. I promise."

The sobbing seemed to calm a little, and he heard the sound of metal on the concrete floor. Who ever was under the desk had apparently laid the gun down. He took a breath and holstered his, then leaned down and bent his head to the right to see under the table.

Underneath was a young girl, her knees pulled up to her nose and arms wrapped around them. She was trembling, and her eyes were puffy from crying. A constant stream of tears pouring down her wet cheeks. Long brown hair hung down past her shoulders, and her bangs threatened to cover her eyes. She seemed no worse for ware though. " _Son of a bitch..._ " The Man said in awe that a young girl yet lived.  
She stared at him with mistrust, fear, and sorrow. Her breath was shaky and she was trying not to sob. " _A-Are t-they...?_ " She gently asked in a equally shaky voice. The man gently nodded and took a breath. "Yeah," He replied softly, trying his best to come off less menacing. "Yeah, sweety, they're all d...gone."

His wavy and greasy black bangs fell down in-front of his brown eyes. He didn't know what to say, or to do. He'd never had this happen to him before. Whenever he saved anyone, they were either adults or a child and an adult. At the very least someone capable of getting home safely. But this was her home. And from the three or four bodies laying about, he could safely assume she didn't have anyone left.  
He glanced to his left, then to his right. His left hand was resting on edge of the desk she was under, so he carefully outstretched his right arm. She inhaled quickly and tried to scoot more against the wall next to her. He stopped and let his fingers loosely curl until the tips were touching his palm. "It's okay..." he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, little miss. Just wanted to help you out from under there, that's all. I'll back away if you want me too."

Her green eyes were piercing into his for the longest time. She remained quiet during this. Shaking like a leaf caught in a storm, but quiet as a ghost. She finally glanced at his hand, then back up into his eyes. He let his guard down a little more, genuinely scared and hurt that she didn't trust him. He was scared she would never. That she was just...broken. He'd seen it before, mostly in adults. Someone looses the person they love suddenly and in a horrible way and they just stop being them selves. They become lifeless, passionless. A zombie of emotion.

But his fears were denied when she scooted a little closer to him and gently reached out, putting her delicate and small hand on his. He opened his fingers and let it fall into his hard palm. She felt it for a minuet, brow wrinkling with the up-most sorrow as she was unsure. She felt his hand, finger tips even tracing over the metal of the pip-boy. She slid her hand back down to his, and after a moment squeezed.

He loosely closed his hand around hers and helped slide her out from under the desk. She slid out into the room, carefully looking around in a panic. It was then he got a good look at her soft featured face. She had a cute little nose and striking green eyes. Clear and pale skin with a small scar on her chin. She couldn't have been more then thirteen or fourteen years old.

He kept her hand in his as he grabbed up his hat and put it back on his head, bangs still hanging in-front of his eyes. She looked over at him and he gave a small smirk of reassurance. She paused a moment then nodded back, and they both stood up, slowly and carefully though.

She had her eyes on the doorway as they began to tear up again. The Man looked down at her with a strong sympathy, still not knowing what to do. He had a thought, then glanced behind him to see a chair tucked into the desk. He stepped back, and her grip on his hand tightened. As if she didn't want him to let go. He didn't. He tightened his hold on hers then grabbed a chair and slid it over to her. "Come here," He whispered softly "take a seat."

She looked at the chair, then at him. He had a trusting and sympathetic look in his dark eyes that somewhat reassured her. She took a step over and sat down on the old wooden chair. He knelt down on one knee in-front of her, still clutching her hand and still looking into her eyes. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you, or...or...?"

She shook her head, tears welling back in her eyes. Suddenly he instinctively reached out and laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb stroking away her tears. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She just stared into his eyes with piercing gaze for a moment. After she realized he really meant her no harm, after his saving her and trying his best to care for her set in, she took in a deep breath and with a shaky exhale spoke her name in a quiver. " _Jennifer._ "

He nodded and slid his hand off her cheek, and his other reluctantly out of her hand. "Hey there, Jennifer." He said quietly as he grabbed the edges of his duster and pulled it off his torso. A black button up was underneath it, it's pearl white buttons and black bandana around his neck standing out. He moved the heavy black duster around and draped it over her shoulders. The large coat nearly swallowed her, but she wrapped her self in it and sniffled. "My name's Elias. You can call me Eli if you want."

He slid his hand back into hers and she tightened the hold on it, staring off into space. He reached up with his free hand and slid his hat off once again, his dark hair falling forward. He put the hat over his heart and knelt down a little more on his knee as he swallowed hard. "I...I am so, so sorry Jennifer. I was well into the town down the hill when I heard the Morse...nothing in the world I can say will make it any better, but I'm sorry Jenn." his broke a little at the end. Her lower lip began to quiver as he eyes filled with tears once again. " _I am so sorry."_ he said again with a voice broken with emotion.

Her eyes teared as the warm droplets began flowing steadily down her cheeks, her lower lip quivering. _"I'm so sorry..."_ He whispered to her again with his voice shaking, as he laid his hand on her cheek. What comfort could he offer a young girl who just lost everything? He didn't know, and it was killing him.  
Out of pure instinct, he slid his arms around her and held her close. Her head laid on his shoulder and her face rested in the crook of his neck. His strong arms encased her and held her tight, as if sheltering her from the outside world. _"Shhhh shhh, it's okay."_ he whispered to her as his eyes teared up while holding her. _"It's okay. I'll take care of you, I swear. I swear it."_ And with that her arms lightly slid around him, letting him hold her closer and tighter into his chest as she sobbed painfully into his shoulder.

After a while he managed to calm her down somewhat. She still wasn't speaking, and was staring off into space at a wall across the room. But the crying had stopped. Elias wasn't sure for how long, but for now, it had stopped. After dragging the dead marauders body out, he left her in the building alone, as he went out and prepared a couple graves for her family. They deserved that much, and she wouldn't be able to see them in the state that they were in.  
The orange sun was setting on the brown and grey horizon, the the sky was morphing into a slowly expanding black color, with twinkling stars hung neatly in the night sky. He would occasionally glance up up and see this slowly expanding sky. An empty and silent void, that was beautiful and beautifully naive to the planet's death rattles.

He looked back down at the grave he was finishing up, and sighed. Three of them, side by side. He silently damned himself for not realizing Morse code when he heard it. Damned himself for letting this happen. If he had just been faster getting up that hill. If he had known the urgency of it all. But he didn't. And now three people are dead, and now he has a little girl to watch after.  
He grabbed the under-arms of a young boy, couldn't have been much older then Jenny, and drug him over to one of the graves, then laid him in. Then to a middle aged father, who had a chunk of his head missing. By the time he reached the mom, he could take any more. He went to grab her, but stopped.

Her body was dirty and appeared somewhat mangled, but she only had one hole in her chest. Her cloths had been ripped off, and her corpse used for sadistic pleasure. His brow wrinkled, and he looked around him for anything to cover her with. He found a tarp, and pulled it up from behind some tires leaned against the building. He laid over her, wrapping her lifeless body in it. Then picked it up in her arms and carried her over to the grave.  
A few moments of filling the graves back up with the dirt, he stuck the shovel in the ground and looked at the raised earth they lay under. Staring at them for a moment, avidly trying not to take time to beat himself up over it. But failing. He bowed his head, and let out an exasperated breath.

Then slowly he walked into the building to see Jenny still staring at the wall. She'd been there for god knows how long. She blinked, breathed and swallowed, but that was the extent of it. _"Jenny..."_ he softly spoke her name, breaking her trance. She inhaled deeply and looked over at him with caring eyes. "Do you have anything you want to take with you?"  
She looked about the room silently, looking for any of her belongings. Any memories she even wished to remember. Everything being so painful now, it was hard to think of the future. Of what she'd want to remember.

There was an old Polaroid picture on the table across from her. She stared at it's placement for a moment, then stood and walked over to it. Elias watched carefully as she picked it up in delicate fingers and looked at it. It was a picture of her family, they'd taken it on the peak of a hill overlooking a large sprawl of flatland. Pa had wanted to take it himself, but mother wanted him in the picture as well. So he set it up on a rock with a timer. He'd complained it was shaky afterwords, but she simply laughed it off and made him laugh along with her.

She gave a small smile as a warm tear slid down her cheek. Then folded it and slid it into her pocket. Next to where the picture was sat another sight entirely. A combat knife they'd found in one of the houses, and the 9mm pistol she used to kill the bandit. She stared at them longer then she stared at the picture.

Elias walked over to the chair she was formerly setting in and grabbed up his duster, swinging it around his back and sliding it on. He also grabbed up his green duffle-bag and strapped it onto his back as well. Looking over at her, he watcher her reach out and caress the handle of the knife and barrel of the gun. She was almost looking at them fondly. It was then he knew for sure. He knew that she needed him.

"Take 'em." He spoke up as he reloaded his gun. She looked over at him with a raised brow, and he glanced up at her. "Take 'em, you'll need 'em. Do you know how to shoot properly? I know you shot that raider, but it was near point blank range."

She shrugged and grabbed the handle of the pistol and slid it off the table, tucking it into her belt. "Somewhat." She spoke up, amazingly enough. "Pa taught me how to shoot, been teaching me sense I was a baby. But he wasn't a great shot himself. Not like you, anyway." She grabbed the knife and did the same in the other-side of her belt.  
Elias chuckled and closed the cylinder on the revolver, turning it once with a hard spin, then placing it in his holster. "I'm not a normal case by any means though, sweetheart. Is that all you want to take?"

She glanced around the room again, her hand reaching up and playing with a gold necklace around her neck. "I think so." She mumbled. Then looked at him and nodded. He gave a nod in return and turned towards the door. She seemed almost reluctant first. Scared to leave with a stranger, to leave all she had known. But all she had known was gone with the setting sun. And she soon found herself eager to leave this place.

They exited the building together and stepped out into the fenced compounds of the radio-station. She looked around at all the dead raider's, and inside it brought her no small amount of joy. They'd gotten what they deserved. But looking around, soon her eyes caught the sight of the raised earth. Three graves, side by side.

Elias looked back at her, then stopped. She kept walking, staring at them. She ran right into his back then recoiled backwards, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry!" She blurted out. He simply chuckled with a smirk and lightly shook his head. "Don't be." He looked over at the graves. "Go give your respects, Jen. I'll be by the gate, okay?"  
She looked at them, fear welling inside her. "I..." she started out in a near whimper.

Elias reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. "If you don't do it now...then you don't do it all. Because chances are we're not coming back through this way ever again."

She glanced at him, then looked back at the graves. He patted her shoulder and moved over towards the gate, gravel and dirt crunching under his boots. She stared at them for a minuet, almost having to force herself to go over there. She had wondered if she didn't care to go see them, wondered if that was preventing it. This was all happening so fast. Then it hit here.

In the span of a few short hours she lost everyone she knew and loved, and was saved by a kind-hearted stranger. It wasn't the horror of wondering if she didn't care that was keeping her away, it was the horror of the fact she couldn't come to terms with what had happened. She couldn't grip the reality of losing her brother, her mother and father. Taken away by monsters who looked like men. Who wore our skin.

She eased forward, slowly but surely, until she was standing before the three mounds of earth. Elias had taken the time to gather up a few things and make three makeshift crosses. Pieces of wood nailed together or rebar duct-taped together. He'd even gathered wild-flowers from the edge of the fencing and placed them on the graves.

She glanced at him to find he was leaning against the gate and staring off into the distance, hands in his pockets. She looked back down at the graves and took a knee, reaching out and gently touching the ground that covered her mothers.  
There was a silent mourning over them, but she didn't cry. She'd cried all day. It wasn't that she didn't want to, it was that she didn't have the energy too. Just like she didn't have the energy to protest the stranger taking her with him. But where was she to go? Atleast with Elias, she knew she'd be well protected. She'd be safe.

She placed her hand softly on his upper back, startling him out of his train of thought. He looked over at her and smirked, tilting himself off the gate and walking forward, Jenny keeping a steady pace beside him. "Where are we going?" She asked in a hoarse voice.

"That little expanse of suburban housing for now. Sun's setting and it's not safe to be out at dark. We'll lock our selves in and sleep a night, then get good ground tomorrow." She nodded at his solid reply, and he looked over at her. "Do...you have any other family I can take you too? Someone to look after you better then I can?"

She inhaled deeply and shook her head. "You buried the only family I had. " she sped up a little, walking ahead of him. "Come on. Let's get to shelter."

He frowned softly then sighed, speeding up a little as well and catching up to her. The orange sun was setting on overcast day, and the air still felt heavy and uneasy. That night, he heard the rain beating down on the roof of the house and he gentle sobbing from across the room as they slept. And the radio from his pipboy that he laid next to him every night played music softly. Like a trance he never wanted to wake from.

 _"But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone. I can't help it, I can't help it if I cry. I remember that you said goodbye. Too bad it only seems, It only happens in my dreams. Only in dreams. In beautiful dreams."_


	5. Chapter 5 Resurrection

He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as his eyes fluttered open. The harsh but yet dim yellowish light over his head blinded him, making him see pure white for a moment. The racing heartbeat monitor caught his attention, and he began to wonder if he was in a hospital. If the entirety of his life was nothing more then a coma induced nightmare, and he'd wake up in a pre-war world. That was a thought he could live a little longer in.

The rapid beeping caught the attention of Alison who was, for what felt like month now, sleeping in the chair next to the bed. She lifted her head to see him turning his head and looking at the heartbeat monitor. She suddenly sprang out of bed in a drowsy haze, moving over to his side.

Her hands rested on his hairy and dirty arm. "Hey, easy there." He turned his head the other way, looking over at her with wide eyes. "It's alright, you're safe. You're safe. Do you remember your name or-."

" _Where am I?_ " He asked in a gravely and dry voice. He cringed in discomfort and reached up, rubbing his throat. _"Who are you, where am I?_ "

"Easy, guy." Alison said letting go of his arms. "I'm Alison Hayes, the town mayor. You're in Prosperous Springs, Texas." She reached over to the table and grabbed a bottle of water off it, handing it to him.

He looked at it for a moment then reached out and grabbed it, the plastic crunching under his grip. He shakily unscrewed the cap and brought it to his lips, steadily drinking from it for what felt like minuets at a time. Finally he stopped and groaned when half the bottle was gone, screwing the cap back on and laying it beside him. " _Jesus..._ " she muttered with a smirk.

"Has all but sought to kill me himself." Elias mumbled as he looked about the simplistic wooden room. "Prosperous Springs?"

She nodded and crossed her arms just under her breasts, shifting her weight to one side. " _MmmHmm_. Our guards watched you stumble into town, and I personally watched you stagger into our saloon then collapse. Doc says you're lucky to be alive."

He swallowed, feeling his throat was better. Then sat up in the hospital bed, now feeling his cloths were missing and he was in a hospital gown. He noticed, but didn't find it a pressing issue. "I don't remember any of that." He groaned as he sat up, still looking around. His eyes caught Alison's blue-jean covered legs, and followed them up her shapely body until her eyes rested on hers. "How long have I...?"

"About four days." She replied nearly somberly.

His expression flattened and he leaned back against the plastic headboard of the hospital bed. It thudded against the wall upon his weight pressing against it. _"Four days..."_ He muttered to himself as his eyes scanned down to his covered legs.

"Doc said it didn't look like you hit your head. Most likely you were exhausted and your body needed the sleep, needed to recover." Alison grabbed the chair behind her and pulled it up to the side of the bed, taking a seat. He looked over at her with a near look of worry in his eyes. "What's your name? Or should I call you The Lone-Star Ranger?"

His eyes closed and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. He'd hoped people would forget. He'd hoped they would remember his 'fond' farewell-the-well and forget that he ever existed. But people are stubborn. And wouldn't stop believing in a false promise, even when it turns around and bites them in the ass.  
He opened his eyes and looked over at her again, out from under his dirty and greasy long bangs. "Elias." He muttered his name, feeling alien on his lips and to his ears. "My name is Elias."

She tilted her head curiously and her soft, full lips curled into a smile. "Elias Grey, then?" She reached out her open hand. He moved his eyes down and looked at it, then reached his up and gripped hers, shaking firmly. " _No_." He muttered, causing her sly smile to fade. "Elias Booker. People started calling me Ranger Grey after I...disappeared."

She nodded her head softly. "Because grey is somehow the color of a ghost." She looked over at him again, he was staring down at his feet with a blank but somehow hopeless expression on his face. "You've been gone five years." His head perked up, as if shocked by hearing this. Then the hopelessness returned, and he bowed it once more. "Did you know that?"

A moment of pause. Then he shook his head then reached over, pulling off the heartbeat monitor's clip that was attached to his finger. The machine's insistent beeping let out a long winded flat-line before Elias reached up and switched it off. Alison chuckled softly under her breath, and was silently surprised he knew to do that. "No." He finally answered and looked over at her. "I didn't know. I just took it day by day."

He reached to his side and grabbed up the bottle again, untwisting the cap and taking a long drink of it. Now only the bottom remained. He finished it off and screwed the cap back on. Alison reached out and grabbed the bottle in his hand, her fingers caressing over his. A chill rocketed down his spine and he closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath.  
She tossed the bottle in the trash and looked back at him just as he opened his eyes. He gripped his hand into a fist, then loosened it.

"You're...the first person I've had a conversation with. In five years." He paused, not directly looking at her, but in her general direction. "An actual conversation. No...guns or threats...blood." He then turned his head and looked at her, almost softly, out from under his bangs. "I forgot what it was like to talk to someone...I'm sorry."

She curiously tilted her head again and smiled a little as she looked at him. Her tight blonde ponytail tilting to one side. "For what?"

"Well," He groveled as he looked down and carefully pulled the IV out of the top of his hand. "I'm not much for conversation. And I'm sure I look like something that crawled out of a Brahmin pin."  
She giggled a little more openly. The sound caught his ears and for the first time in what was apparently five years, he was awake and alive enough to smile at the sound. Reactionary maybe, but it still _was_ a first in a while.

A heavy handed knock came from the door, then a twist of the knob. Elias's hand went down to his hip, grabbing for a gun that wasn't there. The door opened and a deep yet suave voice filled the room. "Hey, Ali, I've warmed up the burners and was wondering if-." He stopped when he saw the ragged stranger tensely looking at him. His jaw was clinched and eyes narrowed at Vic. It made the large man uneasy.

Vic was a tall, broad and husky Italian man. His skin was an olive color and his black hair was greased back. Nose a little too large, and had been broken once or twice. He was the opposite of what was to be expected from the other-side of that door, and the surprise put Elias on edge. Not to mention Vic had about two hundred pounds on the weak, bed ridden man.

Alison laid a hand on his arm. Suddenly, against his will, his body relaxed, and he let out a breath. " _It's alright..._ " she whispered to him, then looked back at Vic. "This is Victor, the saloon's owner and bartender. Also a damned fine chef."

He took a quick breath then smiled uneasy at Elias, walking forward and raising his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir." Elias stared into his eyes for what felt like a solid minuet before glancing down at his hand and reaching out, shaking his with a tight vice like grip. "Pleasure." Elias mumbled.

Vic looked at Alison and smiled a little, obviously uneasy. "I-I got the fryer going for the morning. Do you two want anything? On the house, as much as you want."

Alison looked at Elias who seemed wanting of this offer, but still concerned. She her hand lightly on his shoulder, and his heart beat once heavily, causing his breath to catch. "It's okay, you can have anything you want."

He glanced at her, like a kid who wanted a treat but was afraid to take it from the stranger, even if mom said it was alright. He thought about it for a moment, then looked up at Vic. "What...what do you serve?"

Vic's face lit up with a sort of enthusiasm. "Well I get all my ingredients fresh from the town garden. Just bought a egg-crate of fresh potatoes and some red 'n yellow peppers, really add a sweetness to it that-"

Alison giggled and shook her head. "Vic, spare the man your recipes."

"No." Elias said suddenly. "It's...it's fine. I haven't had a meal like that in a long time. Could I...?"

"Of course you can." Vic said with a smile. He turned and walked for the door, nearly leaving before he turned back and asked "Ali, you want the usual?" She nodded and he gave a nod back to her.

She looked over at Elias who was looking at his dirty arms with a kind of disgust. "I'll show you the restroom after Vic gives us our food. There's a shower there, and I'll get Samantha to cut your hair and trim you up if you'd like."

He looked over at her with surprise. "A shower?"

She nodded. "That water you drank comes from an under-ground stream that runs under the town. Whole town is hooked up to it, we run it through a purifier and it's safe as it gets. You can get cleaned up, and Samantha grooms all her girls."

" _Hmm_." Elias groaned then sat up a little more. "Guess if you got nothing else to worry about then your daughter's appearances, then the town is pretty secure."

" _No, no, no._ " Alison chuckled and shook her head. "Her girls, her...Samantha runs the towns- _er_ -towns cat-house."  
Elias raised his brow and looked over at her. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "It just kinda happened."

Elias leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to remember the pain induced haze he had gone through to get to this town. Then his mind slid even further back, trying to recall any of what was apparently the last five years. And oddly enough, he couldn't. He remembered walking, for so long. No good sleep, no good food. Just walking.

But how did it start? He thought back even further, not sure how much he wanted to remember. Somewhere on the edge of memory, just waiting to be relived, he knew what caused it all. But how did the walk start. He thought all the way back to the sun setting on a ruined, skeletal city. A chill rocketed down his spine and he inhaled sharply, eyes flying open and readjusting to the light.

Alison was watching him curiously and carefully, as he seemed completely out of his element in a place that had people in it. She wondered so much about him, about details and facts. But her curiosity was his burden, and she knew that.

He suddenly turned his head and looked straight on at her. "How long will I have to stay here?"

She was taken back by the question. Newly rediscovered and awake and was already asking when he could leave. "I-I don't know," she stammered "you'll have to ask the Doc."

He nodded and looked straight ahead at the door. From that point, very little was said. Alison was afraid of prying to far and Elias was more fixated on knowing when he could leave. A few minuets passed and Vic brought in a whole dinner tray of food.

Whatever thoughts Elias had were stopped entirely as the smell of fresh, hot food hit his nostrils and caused his mouth to start watering. Vic laid the tray over Elias' lap, it's metal stands fitting on either sides of his thighs.

Before him was a magnificent display. A large plate of what looked to be fried hash-browns mixed with all sorts of peppers. On another plate was a slab of seared but still pinkish meat, which appeared to be entirely too stringy. He instantly knew it was Gecko. And no matter how you cooked it, no matter what seasoning, it still tasted like a dirty Gecko. But, food is food. Steam was rising off all of it, and a fork and knife at his ready.

Vic picked up a small plate- which had a toasted sandwich with spread meat and a slice of tomato on it- and handed it to Alison, along with her Nuka Cola. "I hope you like it." Vic said with a head bow and exited the room, closing the door gently.

Within an instant Elias was digging into every aspect of his meal. An entire fork full after fork full of hash-browns were stuffed into his mouth. Bits and pieces falling into his beard. The plate wasn't small either. And within a minuet or two, he'd devoured more then half of it.  
Alison didn't think she'd ever seen a man eat as fast as he was. She took her first bite of her sandwich, the toast crunching and the taste of tomato and potted-meat hitting her taste-buds.  
After five minuets, Elias had quite literally cleaned his plates and drank the second bottle of water. Alison finished the last bite of her sandwich and brushed her hands off, then her lap. She muttered with her mouthful. "Should I give your complements to the chef?"

A simple " _Mmm._ " was all Elias managed. It was the beast meal he'd had in years. But something still wasn't right. Having tasted something good, rested in a comfortable bed, had another person touch him without causing him harm. Something about it wasn't right.  
More flashes to repressed memories. A dinner table, with rock 'n roll playing faintly in the background, light up by a dim light. Fancy Lad Snack Cakes were laid out like a damned five course cuisine. They ate them all. The whole store of them. They knew they would regret it in the morning, or even the walk back.

She looked at him with powdered sugar in the corners of her mouth and smirked, shaking her head as her hand laid on her pooching stomach. " _Don't look at me like that._ " he chuckled. " _It was goddamned good, and you know it was. Better then fried rad_ _roach or-."_

He closed his eyes tight and shook his head, bowing it and holding his breath as if he was in pain. It was the worst most abysmal feeling he'd felt in years. His heart sunk and his guts rotted inside him and turned to mush. He felt his throat closing and his heart racing. He remembered, all at once, and all too well, why he had walked. Why he had forgotten everything. Why no one called him The Ranger anymore.  
Alison's voice reached Elias with concern. " _Elias...?_ " his eyes opened and his throat opened back up. His breathing was loud and filled the room. He never felt his heart return to it's normal pace, or his gut strengthen. He felt it, stuck in the back of his throat. Made it hard to swallow. He couldn't force it down. "Are you okay?"

He turned his head and looked at her. Concern? She was concerned for him? This was completely foreign to him. Even as The Ranger, no one was ever concerned for him. No one asked if he was okay. It was another job, another errand, another body to drop. Sometimes not even a thank you.

He thought quickly of what to say. The best he could so was "Ate to fast." She stared at him for a moment with a worried expression plastered on her face. Then, after that moment passed, she managed a smirk and nodded. He wasn't sure if she bought it, but either way his problems were his problems. He'd deal with them himself.

He pulled the blankets off of him and laid them to his side, then looked at Alison. "Where's my clothes?" He asked bluntly.  
" _Oh..._ " was her simple remark as she wasn't sure how to explain. "I sent them to a tailor to see if the rips and tears could be sewn up...I, uh...I don't know how much we can save."

He paused, staring at her for a moment, breathing only shallowly. "You threw away my cloths?"  
"I didn't mean to," she said quickly with panic in her voice. "I wanted to get them cleaned and fixed for you but they were so old and...ragged. If they can't be fixed, I promise you, I'll get you better ones."

He sighed and swung his legs off the bed. His bare but callused feet hit the cold tiled floor and he carefully lifted himself off the bed. His body creaked and groaned, joints popping and grinding as he stood up with a groan. "You said something about a shower?" he asked, feeling behind him to make sure the hospital robe was closed. It wasn't, so he gripped both sides of it and closed it.

Alison lead him out of the room and to the right. A old wooden door with frosted glass window's stood before them. She opened it, and it cried out on it's hinges. Inside was a simple bathroom, but well taken care of. Shower in the back, a toilet, a sink. Commodities he hadn't had in a while.

She flipped on the light and walked away, talking to him as she did so. "I'll go see about your clothes and get Samantha. Take your time in there. I'll be right back."

He looked away from her and into the bathroom. A luxury, no matter how simple it was. No matter how plain. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it. A quick flash of _'How do I escape?'_ speed through his mind, even-though there was nothing to escape from. But he'd remain on edge, just in case.

A turn of the knob and warm water flowed out of the shower head. Actual warm water. Steam even began to rise from it. He untied the top of the hospital gown, letting it drop to the floor. Then stepped in. The water beat down on his filth covered body, and washed over his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the water flow over him.

He felt like he was in there for and hour, even though it was about half that. The hot, clean water poured over him and brown water flowed down the drain. We washed the grime off his body, out of his hair. He felt like it was cleansing every part of him. Like it was tearing away the stains of the Wastes. Like being re-birthed

He had forgotten what all of this had been like. He smelled and felt clean. He felt full. He even walked over to the mirror, wiped away the fog, and used the toothbrush and paste laid out for him. He wasn't sure what the paste was made of, as it was kept in a little glass jar, but it was what it was. He brushed away the yellow staining his teeth and was sure they poured abraxo cleaner in it. Maybe even a little alcohol. But he brushed until his gums bled.  
After he was done, he ran a hand over his long and shaggy beard. Looking into the mirror, he saw a man that wasn't who he remembered. He remembered his hair being medium length and black, not past shoulder length and dark brown. He supposed he'd let this Samantha deal with it as well.

That was the next step. He tied the gown around his waist to cover himself up, then stepped out into the hallway. Looking to his right to see a woman in a corset leaning against his doorway with her arms crossed. She looked up, her brown eyes stunning him, and smiled. She waved him over, and he was unsure if he should trust her. But the reality of it set in. He was naked, unarmed, and in a strange town. He didn't have much of a choice.

"Hey there, handsome." Samantha called out in a strongly sexual but smooth voice. She had long, dark red hair that tumbled down her shoulders and looked as if it felt like silk. Her eyes were a dark brown, and they were made all the more piercing by the eyeshadow and eyeliner painting her eyes. Her lips were painted a vibrant red as well. Skin was tanned but fair. Not a wrinkle, blemish or scratch on her curvy body which was constrained by leather pants and a corset. Breasts threatening to spill over the top of it. "You ready?"

He stared at her for a moment, then glanced into his room and nodded back at her. Her full lips curved into a smile, and she nudged her head towards his room. They both walked in, Elias a little more cautiously then her. If eating a hot meal and talking to a beautiful woman was out of his element, this was so far beyond that he could barely comprehend what was happening.

"Take a seat." She said. Her voice was as striking as her appearance. He heard the roughness of years of smoking and whiskey drinking in it. It was a lower level of what happened to his. But the way she carried her words. They commanded him to sit, and so he did. "Let's make you a prized stud again. Whada'ya say?" Her hands moved up his neck and through his hair. Her tongue moved like a prize fighter. Graceful, quick, but just as deadly.

He heard the sound of shears and felt a straight razor for the next thirty minuets, not sure what she was doing to him. But with each passing minuet, his head felt lighter. He spent the whole time thinking, not focusing on anything else. He wondered her story, where she came from and what lead her to this...profession. He wondered who Vic was, and what he did when no one was looking. He looked like a man who had something hidden.

Then he wondered about Alison. How long had she slept on that chair next to him? Why did she care about him? He thought about her and the way she looked, trying to find any detail that may lead to her history. She was wearing a pale white button up shirt and a pair of faded blue-jeans. Cowboy boots had beat against the ground as she walked away. Blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Left bang tucked behind her ear and her right hanging down in front of her face. She had a scar parting her left eyebrow. And striking blue eyes that just a depth to them that felt infinite.

He got so wound up in this thought, he forgot to even wonder anything about who she was. And by the time he realized this, Samantha leaned back and smiled. " _Well-hell-o-hand-some!_ " She cooed, breaking up her words as she took a step back. "Ali never told me you were such a looker. Go ahead and stand up, take a peek in the mirror."

Elias stood, hair tumbling off his shoulders and chest. He turned to his right to face the mirror and froze in his tracks. This was the man he knew. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember him. He looked exactly the same as he did many, many years ago. Hair was jet black and bangs hung down just above of his also near black eyes. The whole thing was medium length, but non of it touched his neck or shoulders. And his beard had been cut down to a stubble. Nothing more then a five 'o clock shadow.

His heart thundered alive in his chest, and his mind raced. Before him stood a man resurrected. Before him stood Elias Booker. A dead man brought back to life, for a reason he didn't know. He didn't know if would ever like the reason. And he damn sure knew he didn't like that he was being brought back.

But he was. God-dammit he was. He wasn't just a vagabond anymore, a nomad. He was what he always was. What he was born and made to be.

 _The Ranger._


	6. Chapter 6 Repent Thy Sins

His hand slid smoothly over the silk floral design that rolled up the front the black vest. The silk was a dark red, giving it a striking appearance. Next to it was a dark button up shirt with maroon buttons. And a pair of stiff black jeans that had been hand pressed and looked as if they'd never seen a day of wear. Accompanying it was a pair of black leather cowboy boots, the same red floral design rolling up them. Silver spurs attached to the back.

He put the clothes on, tightening his gun-belt to his waist and tying the strings attached to the holsters around his legs. He was pleasantly surprised to see his old leather duster had been patched up. It looked more like brown leather patch-work now then anything else, though.  
They'd given him all the clothes he needed, he thought to himself as he slid the black felt cowboy hat off the table and put it on his head. But reaching up pulled the gunshot wound in his side, and he groaned in pain, putting a hand over it. He could feel the gauze underneath his shirt crinkling at his touch, and the wound igniting with fire and pins and needles.

He was never much of one for medicine. Med-X would stop the pain, but he'd feel a little light headed for an hour or so afterwords. Stimpacks would help heal the wound, but he already owed Alison and the town so much. He wouldn't want to deprive them of vital medicine. He sighed, leaning against the table with his free hand and bowing his head.

He knew they'd used a lot of supplies to keep him alive. And he'd burned up a lot of their time just existing. Knowing himself was exhausting, and he couldn't imagine how Alison or the others felt. Perhaps always on edge. But regardless, there was a source of guilt there. He considered possibilities for a moment, then reached a solid conclusion. More like an excuse, however. He was promised a tour of the town, so he would talk to her during this walk.

He picked himself back up and lifted his hand off the wound, taking a deep breath and defying the pain until it dulled. He took one step, and heard the spurs make a metallic 'ting' against the tile floor. He stopped, feeling the chime resonate through him. An old familiar sound that threatened to pull him back to the past once more. But to the best of his ability, he shook the feeling and the chill off, then continued his pace out of the hospital room.

Hot and dry air hit his body upon exiting the doctor's office. Alison was leaning against the wall next to the door with her arms crossed, and he hadn't noticed. He was to awe struck with the bustling town that moved ever constant before him.

People of all variety went on their way, doing their own business. Pre-war buildings stood defiant among survivor shacks made of tin and wood. The streets of dirt stretched on for a good pace, buildings all lining the edges of it. It was then he realized the town was much bigger then he originally thought.

"Surprised?" Alison asked, stepping forward and to his side with her arms still crossed. He didn't answer, just kept looking around and taking it all in. It was good enough for her. "We've done what we can and got by. Just last year we finally finished those walls." She said snd reached an arm out, pointing to the large metal and wood walls that circled the whole town.

"What was this place? Before you took over, I mean." He asked, looking at the walls with an impressed gaze.

"Nothing more then a few buildings, really. It was a small town, had a doctors office, a grocery store, a post office, few houses. I guess they were planning on making it bigger, because we found blueprints and billboards advertising 'A gem of the sands.' The blueprints are how we knew the water was down there." She looked over at him and smiled, tugging on his shirt sleeve. "Come on, I'll give you the two-cap tour."

He followed closely at her side, looking around like a tourist. A stranger in a strange land. Everyone here had lives, daily routines that they were carrying out. Oblivious to him, but ever aware of every bit of darkness that existed outside of those walls. "How many people live here?"  
He asked as he followed her around a corner and saw the grocery store at the far end of the street. Nothing had been paved yet, no walkways or roads. Just dirt paths. "Last time we counted, around three hundred and fifty. Not as much as the other cities, but we get by."

She pointed straight ahead at the store. "We sell literally everything there. Guns, ammo, food, clothing, scrap. Back room is used as an armory too." He nodded, once again impressed that they truly thought of everything. They turned to the left at the end of the street. "You said something about other cities?" he asked as they did so.

"Yeah," she said rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. "West from here-you completely passed it on your way in I reckon- is the bigger city of us three. Rolinsville. And way to the north is a town about the same size as us, Silver Ridge. I'd avoid Silver Ridge if you plan on leavin', they govern hard out there."

It was then he remembered that he had asked when he could leave. He thought about apologizing, but didn't see a lot of reason to. "Yeah, about that." He muttered, drawing her curiosity once more. "I figure I'm still, somewhat, hurt. And I had of used a good chunk of your supplies, medicine, time, food. There's got to be a way I can repay the town. Repay you."

She looked at him with concern and worry, like someone does when they care what happens. "You're hurt. Elias." She said softly. "And besides, it's not that big of a-."

"I've been hurt for a long time, Alison." He didn't mean to say it, and not in that tone. It just came out. Now there was a look of understanding in her eyes, like she knew exactly what he meant. It made him question more about her past. "I'm forty two years old, I can take care of myself. And it is a big deal to me. I'd have died if you didn't act when you did."

He was so stern with his words, she thought. So formal and solid. He was a 'yes ma'am, no ma'am' type of guy. Ridged and still nervous. His hand rested on the old, cracked and browned leather holster on his hip. She shook her head, truly not wanting him to risk himself in such a state. Just after waking up, and four days prior having been shot.

He knew that his attitude wasn't cutting it. He'd been this way for so long. He knew all too well how to threaten and get angry. Could do it on the drop of a hat, and often times couldn't control the temper that boiled his blood. But being civil. Friendly and nice and caring. It was harder then killing a man. And that thought scared him.

But he had to do it. He had to drop his guard and act human for once. Show her that he was human. "Please." he said softly, and in much less of a rough voice. "I ain't leavin'...not until I make it right. Please."

His tone as struck her into a surprised state. She hadn't expected such a rough man to let his guard down like that. And without his walls to keep people out, she saw something in his black eyes. She saw an ocean of pain that just kept rising. It never went down. The tide never subsided. He needed this, or she'd be adding to that ocean. So she nodded gently, and slid her hand softly down the side of his, pulling him forward as she walked back and towards the gates of the city. The feeling of her touch made him shiver again.

As they approached, the gate's opened on a counter-weight system. A motor each sputtered at the top of the two platforms on either side of the fence. Elias guessed the motors ran the heavy counter-weight system. A reverse of the switch would activate a pully, drag the other weight back up and close the doors. But right now, they were groaning open.

The oddly familiar sound of hooves caught Elias' attention, and he saw a man in leather armor and a raggedy hat riding a leather-skinned strider. Such a creature Elias hadn't seen in years. The thundering hooves slowed to a mere trot as the Strider hissed and shook it's head.  
"Carter!" Alison shouted at the rider, getting the ghoul's attention. He looked over at her and raised a hand, then trotted the strider over in her direction. He stopped in-front of the two and slid off the saddle, but kept his hold on the reins. Strider's were notorious for bailing on their riders the moment they were free. "Did you see anyone out there?"

The ghoul shook his head and sighed. "I tracked the footprints all the way up to Scorpion Gulch but lost them in the canyon. Whole place makes what's left of my skin crawl." He looked over at Elias, then straightened his poster.

Alison looked at her traveling companion then pointed her thumb over at the ghoul. "This is Carter Jones, my runner and one of the only people I can trust. Carter, this is Elias Booker. A legend in the flesh."

Carter nodded his head at Elias, knowing the smooth-skins didn't exactly like to shake a ghouls hand. But to his surprise, Elias' hand came out to meet his. Carter looked at it with surprise for a moment then reached out and gripped it firmly, shaking it. "Pleasure to meet ya, Carter." Elias stated in a gruff tone.

"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Booker." He looked over at Alison and sighed. "I just came in to get a bite and some bearings, I'm going to head back out and see if I can track the little spit-fucks through the canyon."

Elias looked at the two then asked with a small bit of enthusiasm. "You need some help? I'm more then willing."

"Actually," Alison pipped a little louder then both of them, drawing their attention. "I've got a better waste of our time. Carter, you know that hospital to the west? The abandoned one?"

"Yeah, Unitex." he replied laying a hand on the strider's neck, calming it as it whinnied and huffed.

"Yeah, that's the one." Alison replied. "I want you to take Elias out there and scavenge that place, we haven't really had the chance to."

Carter raised a brow and looked over at Elias, just as the man in black and red looked at him aswell. "You up for it?" He asked, adjusting the strap across his chest and, in doing so, adjusting the Chinese Assault-rifle on his back.

Elias gave a sure nod. "Absolutely. You happen to have another Strider or am I hoofing it?" He asked, gently touching his side. Alison looked at him and had another sinking feeling of worry settle in.

"There's on the in stables next to the gate. Tell the guard to help you get it saddled, it's a bitch-and-a-half." Carter said, pulling on the reins and moving his Strider to the right and out of Elias' way. His spurs chimed against the dirt ground as he made his way to the stables, leaving Carter and Alison behind.

Alison watched him walk away, unable to shake the feeling of worry. "Maybe I should go with you guys." She muttered and looked at Carter who shook his head disapprovingly.

"You belong here, Ali." He stated, watching her sight and lean her head back. He could tell she was stressed about the whole situation. "How long has it been sense you've ridden out?"

She suddenly clinched her jaw and looked at him, fire in her eyes. "You know damned well how long."

"Exactly." Carter snapped back. "I'm not letting that happen again. You won't survive next time, do you understand me?"

His words were cutting, driving into her gut and making it sink further. The old wound had a ping of phantom pain and she sighed a shaky breath, letting her frustration out with it. Carter's shoulders relaxed and he nodded, turning and pulling the reins of the Strider with him.  
She was left there, staring at the ground. Feeling like a child who wasn't able to go with the big kids. That was the defining feeling of her life. Feeling less important then everything else. Feeling held back. She couldn't dwell on it though. If she couldn't stop, then she knew there was a bottle of jack in her desk waiting for her caress.

The two Strider's kicked up dirt and sand as they galloped alongside each-other. "It's just up here!" Carter shouted over the thundering noise of the galloping. Elias couldn't see any landmarks for a hospital around. Only dunes of sand and dust-devils. They rode up the side of one of these dunes, the strider's slowing to a crawl as they reached the top.

Once there, Elias saw a totally different picture. Below in a valley of dune's stood a large structure, sand pressed up all around the outside of it and swept across the roof. Upon further investigation, a solid chunk of the roof had collapsed. Years of wear and tear no doubt. "I found this place while I was out on a run." Carter said, staring down at it like he wasn't to sure if they should be heading towards it. "You sure you're up for this? All kinds of critters and varmints live out this way. Gecko's and Nightstalker's. Radscorpions. Probably run into a few Feral Ghouls in there as well, they seek out dark structures to shelter in."

 _"Hmm."_ Elias grunted and pulled the reins back, steadying his strider who wanted go forward and down the dune. "All kinds of things seek dark shelter, Mr. Jones. I'm sure we can handle a few Feral's and some Gecko's, though."

Carter whipped the reins and his strider began the decent down the sloped Dune. Elias spurred the hing leg of his strider, and it did the same. Sand fell gently down the hill around their hooves as they descended. "Don't call me Mr. Jones, by the way." Carter chimed up, drawing Elias' attention. "Carter works just fine."

He nodded and chuckled. "Then I expect the same with Elias. No more Mr. Booker shit." He looked back over at Carter and inhaled the deep arid air. "And is that my hat? 'Cause it sure as hell seems like it is."  
Carter glanced over at Elias, then back at the building. "Wondering when you'd notice." He mumbled to himself, but allowing Elias to still hear. "Yeah, sorry. I kinda misplaced mine and...I'll give it back."

He reached up to grab it off his head when Elias suddenly replied with a strong " _No._ " Carter looked over at him to see he was still focused straight ahead. "No, it looks better on you then it does on me. Keep it. I got a new one anyway."  
Carter gave it a moment then tipped his ragged leather cow-boy hat and looked straight ahead as well. Elias smirked and spurred the strider harder, causing it to hiss and trot faster down the hill.

Their hooves hit pavement under the sand, causing a unique clacking sound as they approached the building. The front doors were blown wide open, the glass long shattered. Not much could be seen past the reception desk so far, but they could both tell it was in a bad way. They hitched the strider's to a nearby-burned-out-car, then approached the door.

Elias' hand was now resting further up his holster, more on the grip of the revolver. Carter swung the Assault-rifle forward and pressed it's weathered and cracked stock to his shoulder, aiming it at the door. He glanced at Elias, noticing he was fiddling with the device on his wrist. "What are you doing?"

He finished, then put his hand back on his gun, looking over at Carter. "Turning on the sensors in this thing. It'll vibrate when it detects movement."

"Won't it do that when I move?"

"Probably." He sighed and slowly moved forward with Carter, the Pip-boy vibrating once to let him know Carter was moving too. "It's only to a certain range though, so I should know when you get close or further away."

"Alright then." Carter stated at the doorway. "You got that walkie-talkie I gave you and it's on, so we should stay in contact. Try to be as quiet as you can, just in-case there is a nest of Gecko's or some-such-shit. Room to room, clear the cabinets and first-aid boxes."  
Elias raised his brow and slowly looked over at Carter who glanced at him three or four times. "Sorry...used to running with rookies. Alright, let's do this. I'll take the left."

Elias moved forward with Carter into the building. The faint smell of mold caught their nostrils and choked them for a second, making their breaths shallow until they got used to the scent. Carter broke off to the left and went around the reception-desk as Elias took the right and did the same.

Carter found his way into the waiting room. Sand was pressed up against the window and giving him next to no light. He slowly and gently pushed forward, his gun at the ready in-case anything decided to jump out of the seats that surrounded him.  
He gave the room a quick right to left glance, and that's when he noticed it. The bones. Skeletons sitting in the seats, clutching to remnants of whatever bygone item they were holding when the bombs hit. He lowered his gun as he looked to his left and ahead. His eyes trained on a small skeleton, huddled into a ball on a seat. He knew it was a child, holding it's legs and resting it's head on it's knees. Radiation probably killed it. But the sight still made his heart sink.

Elias carefully passed through a doorway and into a hallway. The sound of newspaper and debris crunching lightly under his step. The hallway was long and somewhat narrow, with about a dozen rooms on each side. He sighed gently and moved forward, his pipboy casting a faint light from it's screen.

A sudden spark from a downed electric cable startled him and flashed a bright blue light in the hallway, along with shooting sparks from it's severed end. He bowed his head and sighed yet again, this time more aggravated and heavily. His Walkie-Talkie buzzed. "Found a fuze box in a storage closet, flipped some switches. Got anything on your end?" he whispered.

Elias grabbed the device off his belt and held down the button, whispering into it. "Yeah, a fuckin' heartattack from a downed power-cable. There's a lot of rooms over here, I'll be here for a while."

It buzzed again, Carter's whispering but still rough voice replying. "We're on opposite hallways, but I see where they meet up at the end. Watch your back, this place stinks of feral's and some kind of shit."

He clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his gun-belt and moved forward, taking the room on the right. It was an out-patient room. He knew it's design from a medical book he read years ago. They put patients who were about to leave the hospital in this room. Kind of like a prep-station.

He began searching the glass-windowed cabinets and drawers for anything useful. Old latex gloves, doctor's masks, stethiscope's. Nothing that was needed. He shuffled along side the cabinets, his foot accidentally kicking a glass bottle and knocking it over, causing a loud glass clank and rolling sound against the cracked tile.

He looked down with a cringe and watched it roll until it stopped. Hitting a skeletal foot. It was the first time he noticed it in the room. A skeleton sitting on the floor in the corner, a bottle in it's hand and an empty canister of Jet in the other. He tried to find a reason to care that this man killed himself most likely, but he couldn't. All he could think was that he was spared a lifetime of agony.

Carter heard the bottle and shook his head. He knew it was more then likely an accident, but it still bothered him. He grabbed the stimpacks-of which there were three- and med-x out from a first-aid kit on the wall, then closed it's lid.

The closing of the lid swung up a whiff of feral shit, causing him to groan in disgust and bat it away from his nose cavity. The smell was unquestionably rank, suggesting it had been fermenting in the hot building for a while. He exited the room and moved down his hallway, hearing that power cord from Elias' end spark. He gripped the rifle tight in his hands as he turned and entered another room, finding it empty of life and just as trashed.

Elias left his room, closing the flap on an empty leather satchel he'd swiped off the skeleton. He'd be able to store more supplied in it then his pockets. Atleast Carter had a utility belt, he thought.

He cringed as the power-cable sparked again, but kept moving. Turning to his right once again and grasped the brass handle of the doorknob, seeing that the door ahead of him on the same side was opened. He turned the knob and pushed the groaning door open.

Looking up from the knob and was greeted with a slim skeleton wrapped in rough leather skin that sagged over it's bones, acting as if it were melted as well as rotted. It let out a raspy, hoarse scream and out-stretched an arm. Elias mumbled _'Shit!'_ and quickly drew his revolver, barely taking aim before firing and blowing it's head in two with a single shot. Already congealed blood splattered the counter and wall behind it. The body hit the floor with a limp thud and the shot's echo resonating throughout the building.

Carter cringed at the sound, sending him on an immediate edge. He swiped the walkie-talkie from his his bandolier and whispered a yell into it. _"What the hell was that!?"_  
Elias could tell from his tone he was panicked and not pleased at the sudden and extremely loud noise. He grabbed his device just as the downed power cable sparked. "Found a feral." He looked over at the dead body and sighed. "He wasn't happy to see me. Sorry, it was reactionary."

The radio buzzed for a second, and he could imagine Carter silently cursing him. "Well," He finally came through in a whisper. "Atleast we know there's feral's. Keep your eyes and ears open, I hear movement down the hall."

 _'Great_ ' Elias thought to himself, adjusting the satchel on his side. He glanced at the body as he moved over to his left, laying his gun on the counter to reach up and open a glass paneled cabinet. Inside was small cache of mixed bottles. He grabbed the largest white one upfront and began reading.

Suddenly his Pip-boy vibrated, letting him know something was near. And from a short distance down the hall, a tin-can was kicked causing the noise to bounce down towards him. The walkie-talkie buzzed and Carter mumbled. _"God-damned-feral's."_ There was silence afterwords, but Elias managed a scoffing chuckle. Finding it amusing that a ghoul was damning the more feral ghouls.

He shoved the bottle of pills in his bag, causing it to rattle a little. Reaching back up he grabbed another bottle and began reading. They were some kind pain-killer he was sure. As he read the power cable sparked again, illuminating the hall and the wall to his right. But this time, when it did, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A shadow.

His eyes lifted slowly up off the bottle, not sure if what he had seen was real. His heartbeat was frantic but slow, and he could suddenly feel the tension in the air. His hand holding the bottle of pills was lightly shaking, and his breaths were shaky and deep. Somewhere in his unconscious, it had put the pieces together before he did.

He just as slowly turned his head to his right, staring at the wall as if he were expecting it to suddenly move. His hands went to work without him, quickly and quietly stuffing the bottle of pills in the satchel and picking his gun up off the counter. He knew that if were a raider or mutant that there was a flipped over gurney behind him he could use for cover.

The wait felt infinite as he stared at that wall. His thumb was tempted to pull back the hammer on his revolver, but something was keeping him from doing it. The same something that was keeping him from moving. Almost like a paralyzing fear, despite not clearly having saw anything.  
He wanted total silence. He wanted to hear nothing except his own thoughts, as this abandoned building should be. But close to him, almost right up against him, he could swear he heard a light scraping noise. Like knives cutting at the tiled floor.

Suddenly the power cable sparked again. This time, it cast the clear outlined shadow on the wall. The shadow was massive, and it only depicted the head and shoulders. It's shoulder's were lightly bumpy and strongly muscular. And it's angular face seemed comprised of a short snout, slight over-bite, no nose. And two long, sharp horns that pointed forward from the back of it's head.

Elias nearly gasped, his knees buckling and causing him to quickly and damn near fall into cover behind the gurney. He pressed his back up against it and listened to the sound of what he now knew was sharp claws on the tiled ground. There was a breathy and primal hiss as it entered the room, much like that of an alligator when it hisses. But this was no alligator.

It had to duck it's head and move it's massive arms closer to it's chest just to fit through the doorway. Once it was through, it stood and deeply breathed in the air. Long and bony quill like spikes protruded from it's hunched back, scrapping against the top of the doorway frame.  
It's skin was scaly and brown mixed with a little grey. It's dark eyes looked about the room out from under it's protruding brow. It's strong jaw opened, interlocking teeth separating and meshing back together when it closed it's mouth. The two slits on it's face flicked open as it breathed in the scent of a fresh kill. It looked down at the corpse of the feral and growled such a deep and guttural growl that it felt as if it shook the room.

Elias held his breath as he felt the creature's gaze in his direction. He couldn't help the rate of his heart, it was pounding out of his chest. He heard it move further into the room, turning towards the corpse and the gurney. It's long and thick tale swung across the ground as it entered the room. It slammed into the cabinets to it's left, causing it to turn and hiss with a growl. A strange noise, like something sharp being dragged across skin or leather. Elias knew that was it's twelve inch razor sharp claws protruding from the tips of it's fingers.

This was the only chance he had. Quickly, quietly and low to the ground he crawled out of the room. The power-cable sparked next to him upon exiting and nearly giving him a heart attack. He crawled into the adjacent too, pressing his back to the wall next to the door.  
The Death-claw grabbed the edge of the gurney he had been hiding behind and flung it like it was a toy. It smashed into the doorway, falling to the ground on it's side once more, blocking entry and exit unless you climbed over it. Elias knew two things. The Deathclaw wouldn't be coming out that door. And it smelled him in the air. It was merely playing cat and mouse.

He looked down at his hands to find them shaking. His heart was racing and pumping adrenaline and an intoxicating fear through his whole body. He'd seen these nightmares at work before, and knew those claws and teeth weren't just show. They cleave through power-armor in a single blow. And they weren't stupid either.

Elias slowly grabbed the walkie-talkie from his gun belt and brought it up right against his mouth with a shaky hand. He turned the volume down to one and pressed the button. _"Carter,"_ his voice was below even a whisper. _"get to the front door. Now. Don't reply to me, don't make noise. Just get to the door. Now."_

He had to hope Carter heard his words clear enough. And that he was alive to hear them at all. Elias could still hear the massive deathclaw rummaging around in the room across from him. Unsure of how close it was to the other exit and his nerves having him a shaking and fearful mess, he didn't want to move. But he didn't have much of a choice. He wasn't a match against a Deathclaw without a serious advantage or more firepower. And it was sure to smell him out eventually. He had to move, and he had to do it now.

He peered cautiously and carefully around the corner of the door-frame. He saw only a empty, dim and trashed hallway. The power cable suddenly sparked again and made him jump back, his heart lurching into his throat and threatening to choke him.  
Once he knew it had only been a spark, and still heard the death-claw tearing into what was presumably the corpse of the dead ghoul, he knew his chance was now or never. He quickly took the spurs off his boots and just as quickly crouch-walked his way out of the room and to the right down the hallway. He knew it wasn't far until he was in the lobby once again.

The relief he felt when he reached the thresh-hold of the hallway was palpable. He knew that he was almost home free. Just out of the lobby and he'd be safe. Once he reached the entryway to the lobby though, his stomach sank. And it froze him in his tracks. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in the air, feel it crawling over his skin. He knew something wasn't right, and he had to get out fast.

He stood and took one step forward when the power-cable sparked again. It illuminated the ground and wall in-front of him, casting his shadow across the ground. He turned to his side as he walked, glancing over his shoulder. Then froze in place once more. Suddenly he couldn't feel his heart beating. He couldn't breathe, but he wasn't choking. His blood ran cold like ice in his veins. The hulking Deathclaw was standing directly behind the power-cable.

He could see it more clearly then he'd have liked. The power cable hung down to it's knee's, and sparked once more. The burst of light illuminated the entire beast. He saw it's muddy skin color and rough, bumpy hide. He even saw white line's on it's body that he knew were old scars. It's breathing was stead, it's massive clawed hands were hanging at it's sides, and it's dark eyes were trained right on Elias.

He had to think quickly. Run and shoot, hope he could hit it in something vital and be faster then it. Which was almost a death sentence. Or find some way to slow it down. Carter had turned on the power, that meant some of the automated system's in the hospital were running. Perhaps even including the magnetized metal doors that required a key-card to open. The hallway in-front of him had such doors. If he could get them closed then, just maybe, they'd seal and give him a chance to escape. Or they wouldn't work after centuries of decay and the Deathclaw would merely knock them open.

He knew the worst part about this would be the dash forward, towards death it's self. He glanced at the door on his right side, and it's as if the Deathclaw noticed it. A slow gutteral growl echoed out from down the hallway towards Elias. It shook threw his body, and brought his heart back with a heavy beat.

Time seemed to drag on, Elias unsure if he was ever going to make himself do this. He kept telling himself that as soon as the power-cable sparked again, he was going to run forward and close the doors. And that wait made everything seem that much longer. Until it didn't.

Suddenly the power-cable sparked again, and out of instinct Elias had dashed forward. But so had the Deathclaw. With a deep grunt upon take-off, it's clawed feet fug into the ground and propelled it forward in large strides. Elias' only saving grace was that he was closer to the doors then the Deathclaw was to him.

He grabbed the edges of the doors and and paused them both closed, just as the beast had reached him. He heard a low buzz from the door, signaling that the magnets had taken hold. _'It worked!'_ he thought to himself, still in a panic. _'It fucking worked!'_  
The Deathclaw slammed into the doors, denting one of them and causing dust to fall from the ceiling. It roared in anger and slammed into them again. Elias wasn't waiting any longer, he turned around and ran, only looking back at the doors for a second before looking ahead where he was going, and running straight into Carter.

Carter grunted and rebounded against the edge of the reception desk, his wits knocked out of him. Elias had grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. Another roar and bang, the doors now bent at the top. Carter wasn't even going to ask until they were hours away from this building. He regained his senses and ran with Elias, out into the sandy wastes.

Carter swore that was the fastest he's ever gotten on a strider before, and the fastest he's ever seen anyone else get on one. Their hooves kicked up sand as they road as quickly as they could back up the dune. For thirty minuets there was no talking, no other sound other then them trying to make their strider's go faster. Elias knew the capabilities of a Deathclaw, and knew he wanted to be far outside of it's territory so not to be hunted by it.

Carter looked over at Elias who had his and clenched to his side, holding the stitched up gunshot wound. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was feeling all those suddenly jerking movement's he had to make. Especially the impact with Carter.

"What the hell was behind that door!?" Carter shouted over to Elias.

He glanced at the ghoul then straight ahead at the rocky flatland ahead. "A Deathclaw!" He shouted back. "You didn't tell me that was Deathclaw territory!"

"I didn't know it was! I've never seen one this faraway from The Crypts!" He paused, trying to even recall the last time he saw one. His memory drew a blank, and he wasn't sure if it was from the adrenaline or from old age. "I'm amazed those doors held."

"He was weak from hunger." Elias replied. "And even so, those doors were coming down by the time we were leaving. Trust me, that's as lucky as we're going to get."

Carter scoffed. "That's more then luck, that's divine providence from god."

Elias didn't know if was joking or not. He didn't think he was, but he still didn't find it worth arguing about. They both couldn't wait to see Prosperous Springs on the horizon, the sun beating down on it. It was encounters like that, that reminded them of how nightmarish and random the waste's were.

A deathclaw, this far outside of their normal territory. Carter didn't know how he was going to explain that one to Alison, then figured he may just let Elias do the talking. Though they both didn't truly know what to say about that. Elias wanted to drink away this memory so it didn't summon more. But he also knew that a few bottle of pills and some other goods weren't going to replace what he'd used up. He would have to keep working at repaying her.

And honestly...that was fine with him.


	7. Chapter 7 Grey Hearts

The strider's came galloping into town just as the sun was setting. Elias noticed the activities for most of the town had begun to wind down. The streets were more empty and there was less chatter. But the restaurants, saloon's and the brothel we're still bustling with people.  
"Hey," Carter said getting Elias' attention. "Follow me. We'll ride these supplies to the doc's then up to Alison's house, I'm sure she'll want to know you're safe."  
Elias spurred the horse and kept a nice trot alongside Carter. "You too." he replied, doubting she'd be considered for only one of them.

Carter chuckled in an amused manner, looking off into darkening blue sky on his left. " _Sure._ " He whipped the reins and the Strider trotted a little faster ahead of Elias, making him wonder more about what Alison wanted. He spurred his Strider and caught up to the stoic ghoul.  
A short minuet later they rode up a hill towards a large house on the top of it. It was a pre-war home, two stories from what he could tell. It had a roofed off porch attached to the front. Wooden steps leading up to it and the front door. A hitch was posted in the ground near a trough of water, and that's where Carter rode up and hitched his strider.

The front door opened and Alison stepped out, looking at Carter then at Elias who was still on his strider. Looking at him she smiled. She crossed her arms just under her full breasts, her soft pink lips parting as her head bowed a little, but eyes still looking up at Elias. Her blonde bang was hanging down in-front of a brilliant blue eye. This was the first time Elias noticed these things, and had to try his hardest not to stare in awe at her sudden beauty. "You two are back earlier then I thought, actually."

"Yeah," Carter sighed. "Well, we ran into some trouble."

Her expression flattened and she took on a more serious tone. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Carter raised a hand, signaling to stop her worry for him. He glanced at Elias who had failed in his task not to stare at Alison. She looked over at him and he snapped out of it, shaking his head quickly. "There was a Deathclaw in the hospital. An adult male it looked like. We barely made it out."

" _Jesus._ " she quickly mumbled under her breath. "This far outside of the cypts?" She asked both of them, glancing at them.

"Guess so." Carter stated. "Elias said something about it being weak from hunger, so maybe it was just a stupid kid who left home and grew up scraping by on what it could find."

Elias knew that assumption was wrong, but was to tired and in pain to argue with it. He swung his leg off the saddle of the strider and dropped to the ground. The sudden jerk made the wound on his side pull. He growled in pain and clenched his side, snarling as he leaned into the side of the strider, covering the view of his face with his other arm that was outstretched and resting on the hilt of the saddle.  
Alison looked over at him, raising her head as her eyes lit up with panic. "Elias!?" She shouted over to him. Her heart began to race and she sprinted down the stairs, running barefoot across the dirt ground over to him.

His breathing was heavy and eyes trained on the ground, head bowed and shallow breaths being drawn in through his parted lips. He looked over at Alison, his hand clutching his side. "I'm fine." he replied, not really noticing she was directly at his side. "I just moved to fast."

" _Bullshit_." She muttered and grabbed his arm, putting it around her shoulders. He tried to pull away but found himself too weak, and instead had her guide him into her home. "Carter, go get yourself some sleep. We'll be fine."

Carter tipped his hat and turned, beginning his walk back down the hill without another word. He'd leave his strider hitched their, knowing he'd want to stop by in the morning to get his daily routine and see if Elias was fairing well. But for tonight, it was to the saloon then Samantha's Cat-house.

Alison lead Elias into the living room, letting him slide off and land safely on a couch. He took a deep breath, his head feeling less light and his vision growing less dark. The sudden sweet smell of vanilla and the faded crackle of a record playing soft big-band music in the background caught his ears.

He looked to his left and saw her bedroom through a doorway. Purple sheets draped over her queen sized bed, a faded blue metal trunk sitting at the foot of it. Directly in-front of him was a old black-and-white TV set that was more there for decorative purposes then anything else. It sat against the side of the stairs that lead up to the second floor. To his right was the front door, but also a room to the right of the stairs, which looked to be the kitchen.

Elias deeply breathed in the scent of vanilla and relaxed into the comfortable if not well used couch. "Nice place you got here."  
Alison came out of the kitchen with two beers in one hand a white medical kit in the other. She laid it down on the coffee table in-front of him, along with a cold bottle. He sat up a little more for her, groaning as he did so. His hands working to unbutton his shirt.

She took a swig of the beer and watched him work on his shirt. She'd been through two bottles already and was feeling about as light headed as he was. More bold, perhaps, as she caught herself looking down at his jeans and wondering when he'd work on them next .

He finished the last button of his shirt, leaning forward with a groan and pulling it off. She grabbed it collar and helped him pull it down. He had on a black Tank-top under it, but leaned back, his breathing a little bit heavier from struggling with the shirt.  
She reached out and ran her finger-tips down his broad and muscular shoulder. He looked over and watched her fingers slide down his bicep and over a scar that ran across it. "Knife wound." He said staring down at her hand.

Her hand slid all the way down his arm to his forearm, softly running it over a scar that wrapped around his entire forearm. "Bite mark." He replied, drawing her attention up to his impossibly dark eyes. "Was a...feral dog, belonged to some Marauder's."  
She looked up into his eyes, noticing small scars that lined his face. She reached up and slid her hand across the side of his strong jaw, causing him to close his eyes slowly and enjoy the feeling. It had been over a decade sense he felt the touch of a woman, and it was making his heart race.

After the brief moment of intimacy, she took a swig of her beer and stood up, moving to the other side of him and pulling up his tank-top. The gauze wrapped around him had a trace of dark red under it. She grabbed the medical kit and opened it, pulling out a pair of scissors and gently cutting the wrap.

Then she pinched the edge of a bloody gauze bandage stuck to his side. She looked up at him and he looked away, drawing in a deep breath. Once he stopped, she looked back to his wound and peeled away the gauze. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth and tensing his body. Alison could feel it under her touch.

Elias could take the pain, though he didn't find any comfort an it. He knew people who wouldn't flinch to having been shot or stabbed. They accepted the pain. But to Elias, pain was pain. There was no joy in it, there was no familiarity or comfort. It was his body telling him to react. To stop whatever was causing him pain. If anything, it triggered his reflexes to grab-hold or out-right kill whatever was causing it.

The bandage was soaked through and through with crimson red. She laid it on the coffee table i-nfront of them and reached back into the medical kit, removing a cloth and bottle of disinfectant. Laying it next to her leg and reaching back in, she removed a small syringe of med-x and a stimpack. Elias looked over at what she was doing and shook his head. "Alison, don't." She looked up at him with her hand on his side. "I haven't even replaced what I've used, I don't need to use your personal med-kit."

She stared up at him for a moment before jabbing the needle of Med-X into his side, causing him to cringe with a snarl then relax, a numb feeling almost instantly climbing up his side. He sighed and looked away, seeing no point in arguing with her. She was a stubborn woman of conviction, and when she sat her mind to something she would do it. Damn whatever the consequences or whatever was said about her or the decision.

She threw the syringe on to the pile of bloody bandages then grabbed up the bottle of disinfectant and the cloth, unscrewing the cap and tipping the bottle upside down with the cloth over it. Once it was wet with the alcohol, she began to lightly wipe and dab at his bloody side and wound. With him feeling numb and exhausted, he didn't even feel it.

Soon afterwords all the blood was wiped away, and his wound was left clean. The numbness stayed locked to his side, and he barely felt the sting of the stimpack's needle. "That wasn't necessary." he said not looking at her. "I'm just using up more of your supplies, more of your time, and there isn't even a promise I can replace half of-."

"And how will you replace _any_ of it if you're falling apart at the seams?" She asked with annoyance in her tone and a wrinkle in her brow. He was silent, simply watching condensation form on the outside of the glass and drip down to the table. Soon she had pressed a fresh gauze pad against his side and re-wrapped the wound. "There, ya big baby." She said scooping up all the waste on the table and walking away with it. Needless to say he watched her walk away with a short spark of anger.. "You can sleep here until we can get you a real place." She called out from the kitchen.

He avidly shook his head. "I...I don't think that's a good idea." was his reply. Though a short and not-well-thought-out one.

She came back into the room with a sway in her step. Her blonde hair was let down. It fell around her shoulders and down her back. Across her breasts. He quickly looked away, more towards her bed-room now. Just in an attempt to look anywhere but where he knew he shouldn't. "And why not? You afraid I'm gonna bite?"

He scoffed a chuckle, feeling her take a seat next to him. He mumbled just in ear-shot. "Even if you did I wouldn't mind."

She smiled and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it out more. "There a reason you're not looking at me?"

Slowly he looked over at her. She was in a pale white tank-top and jeans that clung to her curvy hips and legs. She wasn't twig skinny like some of the women he'd seen before. She was well kept, maybe even a little chubby. It was harmless and actually added to her beauty. "No ma'am." He said quietly, diverting his eyes up and locking them with her. "Just wondering why anyone would want me near."

She stared at him for a moment, looking into his literal black eyes. She couldn't even see the white's of them under the shadow of his cowboy hat. So she reached an arm out and grabbed the top of it, gently pulling it up and off his head. With her other hand she reached out and lightly brushed her fingers over his hair, brushing it forward and to it's natural position.

His bangs brushed across his forehead and he blinked slowly. When he opened them he found himself still staring into her eyes, and her still staring into his. She found herself amazed. He hadn't looked at her dead on like this before, and not without his hat on. She was amazed that it wasn't the shadow making his eyes black.

Despite seeing the white's of his eyes now, his iris was nearly indistinguishable from his pupils. Without exaggeration, they were literally the color of coal or onyx. But yet they carried a sense of warmth. A tender caring, long buried and under-fed, but still their. Waiting to be re-summoned to the surface. _"I do._ " She finally replied in a voice so gentle and soft, that Elias felt his heart not flutter, but melt inside his chest.

He stared into her eyes for what felt like an infinity. They were the deepest blue he'd ever seen. It wasn't just a depth of color you could see so clearly, but that you could feel. That you could get lost in. His were as solid as stone, but her's were as infinite as the ocean. "I'm not a man...that you want in your life." He spoke softly, in a whisper. "Not a bodyguard, or a runner. I'm a murderer. And a thief. And I will shatter your heart if you give it to me. Not because I want too, but because I can't hold it."

Her lips were parted and her breathing was faster. He could see her chest rising and falling quicker. He didn't know if it was lust or fear that was making her breathe quicker. "I don't have one to shatter." She replied in a soft and monotone voice.

He wrinkled his brow and lightly shook his head in wonderment. "Who _are_ you?" Now his eyes searched hers for answers. Her lips loosely closed and her breathing normalized. Now her eyes seemed a darker, more dull blue. Less exciting and vibrant. "We both have our secrets, Elias. Both have lived our lives. I am who I was made to be, just as you are."

This time she was the one to shake her head. "I'm sorry." She laid his hat down on the coffee table and stood up, brushing past his legs to her bedroom. "There's a spare room upstairs, it's yours until we can get you settled. Make yourself at home."

She entered the room, leaving the door half-cracked. He was left staring straight ahead at the record-player that now played a song he found too familiar. _"It's only make-believe."_ by Conway Twitty. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, the man's smooth and deep voice and the lyrics he sang filling his ears.

He opened his eyes and looked over at her door. His brow flattened as he saw her between the crack of the door. She crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She wore no bra under it, but he could only see her naked back. As he watched her, something caught his eye. A medium length scar at ran from her kidney to near the center of her spine. But regardless, his heart began to race. And his mind began to wonder.

She unbuttoned her jeans, then bent over as she slid them down to her ankles. Thin silk panties forming to her shapely ass, leading down to her thick thighs. She stepped out of he pants and walked over to to her bed, pulling back the covers. S

Did she want him to look? Was she teasing him? If she was, he couldn't figure out why. Why he was an object she desired, a person she wanted. Maybe she just wanted a good fuck, but she didn't seem the type of girl. There was something about him she liked. Coming on strong or not, she wanted him. But he was a firm believer in being a man she didn't want in her life.

He looked away and leaned forward grabbing his hat and putting it back on his head. He also grabbed the beer and popped the top on the table, taking a strong swig of it and wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste, then stood. Collecting his things, he retreated quickly up the stairs. She simply watched him go then pulled back the covers on her bed, sliding her near naked frame into it.

They both turned into their beds wondering about each-other. Alison silently damned herself for both not pursuing what she wanted, and for pursuing it at all in the first place. She barely knew him, he barely knew her. She had no right to want him. No place to want him. Her eyes began to tear up at this thought and she closed them. She didn't deserve what she wanted.

The darkness felt familiar to him. Cold but yet warm. A void, but yet it smothered him. He sat in the room, one leg hanging off the bed and the other laying along the edge. He didn't even have the common grey strands of moonlight shining through the window. It was just darkness. Smothering, empty darkness.

He casually drank the rest of the beer and laid it on the nightstand beside him. His hand slid down the still condensed bottle until it rested on the table. _"Don't you have anyone...?"_ Jenny's voice asked him, causing his eyes to tear up. _"No."_ he recalled him somberly replying. _"Nobody. It's-"_

"-Been just me. For a long time." He himself replied in the dark room, staring off at nothing with tears in his eyes. He could almost feel the hot air of the summer day blowing against his skin.

" _Don't you get lonely?"_

He let the question linger in the air for an infinity. Now he felt hot tears roll down his cheeks, across the two scars on the left side of his mouth that went from his nostril to the bottom of his lower lip. "Yeah...yeah it does. I...I tend not to think about it."

 _"How much longer do you think you can do this, Elias?"_ an older voiced Jenny asked. He closed his eyes loosely and tried to hold back the tears. _"How much longer do you think you can be alone out here."_

He remembered what he said to her when she asked him that. He remembered letting it linger in the air as well before gruffly saying to her _"As long as it takes."_. But that was many years ago. Now his hair was greying, as well as the remains of his soul. His heart-strings had snapped, and the fire in his eyes had died. He remember what he had said then. But the times had changed. He bowed his head and silently sobbed, softly whispering _"I can't. I don't want to anymore...I don't want to be alone anymore. I can't do it...I can't._ " his whispering to the darkness had broken down to sobbing and light head shaking. He raised his hand and put it over his face, covering his eyes.

How long had it been sense he had cried? It had to have been years. But he couldn't hold it in any longer. That feeling from the clinic was back. The choking feeling, the wall in the back of his throat. Fire in his lungs and fog veiling his mind. He could feel the weight settling in on him. He was tired. More then that, he was worn. Faded and old. A relic of what he used to be.

He was becoming vestige.


	8. Chapter 8 The day is gone

She stood in-front of the mirror adjusting the faded grey sports bra she had just put on. It was barely her size, but she made due. Her hands ran over her full breasts to straighten the fabric, but her eyes were focused further down.

They ran down her abdomen and to her scarred and loose stomach. There was a deep chunk taken out of her left side, and the scar ran all the way around her back. She felt as if her whole torso were one ugly pile of scar tissue. She could hardy recall a time when it wasn't. Recall a time when she was younger and pristine.

Her eyes looked up into hers in the mirror, and all she could see were the scars. Inside and out. She could see the worry lines on her brow and the laugh lines around her nose. The small scar on her brow and the more noticeable one on her chin.

She slid her hands further over the scar and closed her eyes.

She put on a short sleeves grey shirt and her jeans. Then slid a gold cross and chain across her table, clasping it around her neck and pulling her hair back into the tight ponytail that it's always in. Afterwords she got on her knees and bowed her head, laying her elbows on the bed and made her hands into a steeple. She began a prayer.

Elias slid his legs off the side of the bed and arose. First time he had slept in an actual bed, in an actual house, in years. And yet he found it as empty and unfulfilled as ever. Maybe he felt like he could do something for a few hours without resting, but he had walked for five years and done the same thing. Something was still missing. And the nightmare's were still coming.

He stood up and went over to his bag, opening it up and seeing the pristine rifle he had taken off the bandit that shot him. He took it out of his bag and grabbed the bottle of whiskey under it. After throwing the rifle onto the bed he unscrewed the bottles cap, taking a long swig of it. It burned like a familiar fire as it went down.

There was no point in sitting around moping all day about last night or the dreams he had. He checked the bandage on his side, then put his cloths back on. Making sure to strap down the gun belt a little looser, as to tuck the bottle of whiskey between it and him.

The sound of his boots across the wooden floor caught Alison's attention. She looked over to her right just as he hit the last stair and looked over at her room. Seeing her on her knee's on the floor made him wrinkle his brow, and he turned and walked her way.

She bowed her head once more and closed her eyes, trying to finish her prayer as quickly as it possible. He leaned against the door-frameand laid the butt of the rifle on the floor, his hand gripping the barrel. "You okay?" He asked curiously if not bluntly.

"Yep." She quickly and innocently replied. "Just saying my morning prayer."

He nodded his head and looked away, trying not to make her feel awkward as he waited for her. She looked over at him with open eyes, but kept her head bowed. "You want to join me?"

He looked over at her and closed his eyes, shaking his head no. When he opened them she was still looking at him. Her stare wasn't of judgment, but of concern and curiosity. He looked away and took a deep breath. "I don't pray. Not anymore."

She blinked quickly a few times and picked up her head. "Why not?"

As she picked her's up, he bowed his, his hat covering the upper part of his face. "I don't got much to believe in, ma'am. Ain't a lot of good happen in my life for me to pray thanks to someone who don't say nothing back. No offense."

She wrinkled her brow, and he thought she was judging him. But then he noticed the slight smirk that accompanied it. "Why pray thanks for the bad things when you can pray forgiveness for all that's gone wrong?"

He paused for a moment as something clicked in his head. He felt an icy chill go down his body, like you feel when you've done something wrong but haven't seen the consequence yet. He shook his head and glanced over at her. "A lot of the shit I've done...there ain't much forgiving me for."

 _"Elias,"_ She said in a near sigh. "A lot of the shit you've done happened a long time ago and you had to do for a reason."

Elias raised his head and his hand, and with a deep and sudden voice started to ask "Look, can we-." He stopped himself as he saw her expression turn into that of regret. And suddenly his heart sank a little further. The most surprising part of that to him, was they he even had one to begin with. "I...don't want to talk about god, or my past. _Please._ "

She nodded her head gently, her eyes moving down to the rifle he was holding. Her hurt expression flattened. "Is...is that my rifle?" She asked, starting to stand up. He looked at the gun in his hand then brought it up, showing it off to her. "You've got to be kidding, it _is_ my rifle!"

She ran over and and grabbed it from him, checking it over with a spark of excitement in her eyes. "How!? How did you even find it!?"

"Your..." he started to ask in confusion. "That's the rifle that put this hole in my side, I took it off the bandit who shot me. Figured it had to be someone's."

"He shot you with it?" She asked looking up at him. He nodded and leaned back against the door-frame. "Shit, I'm so sorry. It used to be my dad's, I thought it was gone for good this time."

He smirked and watched her run her hand over it's polished mahogany stock, her fingers caressing it as if it were the cheek of an old friend. There was a sense of satisfaction that radiated off her. And the bitter taste in Elias' mouth, and the memories of the nightmares before, faded from thought. And deep inside, on the very edge of conscience thought, he knew. He knew that no matter what he did, he was content doing it in the presence of someone who understands the past. And who could appreciate the present more then he could.

"So," He said deeply but softly. "What's on the agenda for today? Am I going with Carter to...do whatever it is he does all day?"

She giggled near girlishly and shook her head. "Just follow me. And don't tell Carter."

She had grabbed a bandolier and holstered the rifle on her back. Now she looked as much as a cowgirl as she possibly could without wearing a hat. It was old-fashion, Elias thought to himself. More of a novelty as time went on. There were ranchers, but cowboy's were truly few and far between. Elias dressed the way he did after reading old western novels as a child. He was never discouraged from being that way. _'Chivalry is a good man's trate, but it's not necessarily one that should die with them. But it is one that'll die on it's own volition, by it's own hand.'_

Elias didn't know what that meant at the time. He had pondered it from time to time, but it took him just shy of two decades for him to figure out what it meant. Chivalry dies out when you stop believing humanity is worth caring about.

Anger, and rage, were the killer of one's humanity. And bitterness was the ash and grit that covered the skin and layered your teeth and tongue.

They walked under the morning dew, staring at the orange streak across the horizon that was the rising sun. They walked though town, talking about nothing in particular. Mostly where they got all their supplies. He learned that some of it was here when they took the town over, but it had long sense been distributed. But the distribution of those supplies helped in the gathering of more. It was a slow process, but pretty soon the town had built up a stock of supplies, and secured trade routes with the other towns.

They walked up to the door of the grocery store and walked in. Slow dance music played over the loudspeakers and the building was surprisingly well light by the dim overhead lights. There were isles and isles of shelves, each isle was packed full of assorted goods. And each isle had a wooden board attached to some chains hanging from the ceiling, with wording painted on them telling the contents of each isle.

"C'mon." She said walking off to the right and past the butcher's shop that was tucked away in an alcove directly to their right upon entering the building. To Elias' surprise it looked and smelled clean as he passed it. Stale and perhaps a little like sugar bombs, but cleaner then what he would have expected it to be.

The isles upon isles were treasure troves of supplies. Elias glanced down each one as they passed by them, seeing isles of clothes, scrap, canned and boxed food. They went down on of the clothing isles and headed toward a foreboding metal door.  
Alison grabbed the latch in the middle and twisted. The hinges around it's sides opened out with the sound of scraping metal, then a pressurized hiss as the door slid up into the cieling. Upon stepping through the entrance-way, Elias discovered where Alison had been leading him. The armory.

Though the room was more box shaped, there were several isles of guns and ammunition. Several isles in the middle of the room, and shelves lining all the walls. Most of them were standard guns; hunting rifles, 10mm and 9mm pistols, a few assault rifle's. He chuckled with amazement and a smirked at how well the town had managed to not only keep it's self afloat, but stockpile such artillery. "Take whatever you like," She said walking over to front right corner of the room. "I'll tell you when I'm ready."

He slowly moved down the isle, perusing the rifle's that seemed to all be in good conditions except for a few. _'Well kept.'_ he thought to himself as he perused past them all. His hand reached out and the tips of his fingers caressing over the stock of an Assault rifle. He heard a clanking from the corner Alison was at, and wondered what she was retrieving.

He crossed to another shelf, this time a variety of melee weapons were both hanging up and laying down. He looked at-least three pairs of brass-knuckles hanging from a nail, then over to a leather sheathed bowie knife hanging from it's string. He wrinkled his brow and reached out, taking one off the nail and undoing it's latch. Grabbing the polished wood handle he slid the razor sharp steel blade out and admired it's glint under the light. He sheathed it and raised his leg, sliding it into his boot. He was never very good at hand-to-hand combat, but it was always best to have a backup.

"So," he said lout enough for Alison to hear. He noticed the movement stopped as she listened. "How do you and Carter know each-other?"

"Me and Carter?" She asked with a near amused chuckle. "I've known 'em all my life. Since I was in my early twenties, just coming out of my teenage years. He...he found me in a bad way. And has been my mentor in life ever sense. He taught me how to shoot, how to hunt, how to scavenge. Taught me how to be a leader, and run this town."

Elias was somberly silent for a minuet before letting out a huff of breath. "Sounds like a father-figure."

She smiled softly and nodded as she loaded the over sized bullets into the clip. "Kinda, yeah. I guess he was one sense I never knew my dad."

Elias nodded as he perused more guns behind her, not turning around to look at what she was doing. "I knew mine, but...not for long. One day he told me _"Eli, I want you to remember everything I taught you. I may have been hard on you, but it's a hard world. I know one day you'll grow up to become a survivor."_ He paused as he stared off into space, remembering his words but not his voice. _"And...whatever you do in life, know that I am proud. And I do love you, son."_

Alison was quiet, listening onto Elias' breathing which was heavy with an emotion he seemed to not know or know how to deal with. "First and only time he ever told me that." Elias silently stated. He drew in a deep breath and sighed. "Then he...walked out the door, and never walked back in. I was thirteen."

She bowed her head for a moment, almost paying a sort of respect for Elias. But, internally she couldn't decide which was worst. Never knowing your father, or loosing one you did know. _"I'm sorry."_ She stated in a near whisper.

Elias was silent for a moment longer. "So am I." he let another moment pass, listening to her load the bullets into the cartridge. "What about your mom?"

Alison scoffed. "She was there." Instantly Elias could tell she wished that she hadn't been. "She was high on chems and whoring herself out to everything with a heartbeat, but she was there."

She paused and turned around, looking at Elias with an oddly wild look in her eyes and a sarcastic smirk. "Kind of hilarious how it all turned out. My best friend runs a whore-house, I run the town that runs the whore-house, and Carter doesn't have much of a pulse."

Elias chuckled, even smiled, as he shook his head. "Sorry about that. I never knew my mom, she died giving birth to me." He looked over at his shoulder at her. "But I'm sure yours loved you."

She scoffed again, this time smiling and shaking her head. "She was to busy shoving needles in her arms and fucking men, women, ghouls, animals, maybe even a couple kids if she was high enough."

Elias looked away and sighed. "I'm sorry. Must have been rough on you."

She went silent stared at the wall for a second, reaching up and touching the scar on her stomach. _"Yeah."_ She dryly muttered. "It was. But it's the past."

"Sometimes." Elias said almost shamefully. "Sometimes the past is all we got." He knew she would disagree. As much as they were alike, she was more hopeful then he was. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice when she talked to him. Before she could reply he turned around and saw the massive rifle she was tinkering with. "What the hell is _that?"_ he asked suddenly and curiously.

"Anti-material rifle." She stated in a matter-of-fact way. "With explosive rounds, for extra asseveration."

"What the hell are you going to do with that?"

She smirked and glanced at him. "We are going Deathclaw hunting."

His expression flattened and turned more serious. "Why? What good is going back there and killing at thing?"

She picked up the rifle and pressed the recoil-suppressing butt to her shoulder and aimed down the scope. "Sooner or later it'll make it's way closer to us, and nobody want's that. Plus there are supplies in that hospital." She looked over at him. "If you want to replace what you've used."

He shook his head in disagreement. "That isn't going to work." He said in a near panic. "This isn't going to work! I've seen what those things can do, they can slash through power-armor!"

She lowered her rifle and wrinkled her brow at the sudden burst of panic. She could even see his eyes were dilated, his breathing was faster and his hands were shaking. "Hey, relax. We'll be at a distance, and this thing can-."

"Don't tell me to relax!" He shouted at her with a snarl. "You are going to get yourself killed! You don't wake up one day and decide to go kill a Deathclaw!"

"I know what I'm doing, Elias." She sternly snapped at him. "I'm not a fuckin' child, don't treat me like I am."

"Have you seen how fast they are?" He asked staring her down, his breathing hard and heavy as his mind raced with past memories he didn't wish to recall. "Have you seen how many bullets they can take before they finally drop!?"

"Elias, stop!" Her hand gripped the rifle a little tighter.

"They'll take down platoon's of Power-armor clad Brotherhood, getting shot to hell while doing it! They'll charge in and leave blood and guts laying in the dirt!"

She drew in a deep breath and finally shouted; _"ENOUGH!"_

"Jenny, just _LISTEN TO ME!_ " he shouted back.

Suddenly her angered expression melted, as did his. He was left shaking and staring at her with tears in his eyes. He closed the hand he had held out to stop her, his leather glove creaking as he closed it. His arm dropped to his side and he took a step back, now staring off into space. " _Elias...?_ " Alison asked softly, tilting her head and watching back back up until he backed into the shelf behind him.

The shelf rattled and he looked away from Alison, more towards the exit. He contemplated walking away. Out the door, out of the town. Maybe he'd come back, maybe he'd leave before it happened again. He did everything he could inside his own mind, attempting to avoid the past life that swirled around in it's murky darkness. " _Who's Jenny?_ "

Hearing her name out-loud, spoken by another, tore through him as sure as any bullet. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath through his nostrils. His shaking hand gripped the counter's edge, and all he could feel was an empty silence. All he could hear was the empty silence. And for that moment, in that single moment. He regretted not being killed long ago. He wished he had been. And it was a feeling that didn't fade. He felt the single but powerful tear slide down his cheek. It was the only feeling he had.

"Elias, who's-?."

Before she could finish Elias walked forward, exiting the room and leaving Alison behind. "Elias?" He heard her voice as he walked forward, through the isles. Suddenly, everything in the world around him lost color. Everything became muted. And he simply kept his pace, walking out of the store and into the dawning day.

He needed to leave. He felt it, in his bones he felt it. He needed to leave. They were wrong about him, he was no hero. He was no good man. He was a dead man, who wished not to be brought back to life. He wanted to despise her, this place, for trying to bring him back. He wanted to hate them all.

But he couldn't. He couldn't feel the warm hate or the bitter snap of anger. All he could feel was coldness. A kind of cold that rolled through his veins and made him want to tare out of his skin to get away from it. His mind went to the guns on his side. _"Pull one,"_ he though. " _pull one and put it to your head. This will all be over with the twitch of a finger. You know how hair triggered those things are. You'll probably exhale and they'll go off. Just pull one, and end this."_

But he couldn't do that either. He didn't have the energy to that. He felt drained, and broken. Felt the break in his heart and mind long ago, and could still feel it. He walked through and out of the town, but he couldn't remember. All he could see were the faces of the dead. The people he had killed, the people who had been killed trying to help him. All he could see was miles of corpses, all rotting under the hot sun.

He'd fall down and become one of them soon.

He couldn't recall how far he had walked before he reached a hill and stared over the desert. He could see heat radiating from the dry, cracked ground, and feel the equally dry, hot wind against his face. He heard hooves behind him, but didn't turn to see who it was. He almost hoped it would be something to come and try to put a bullet in him. The sound stopped, and he heard a thud on the ground. The rider had gotten off.

A hand laid on the center of his upper back, and he turned his head to left to watch Alison come around the side of him. Her hand dragged across to his shoulder and her concerned looking eyes checked him over. He expected a stern _'how dare you'_ or a _'are you okay?'_ perhaps even a question he didn't wish to answer. "Elias-"

"Just stop." Elias suddenly snapped after the beginning of her sentence, causing her heart to sink. She saw the look in his eyes, the pained and angry expression on his face. "Just...stop. I had no right to ask you who you were last night, and I apologize. But for all of your wondering where I've been for those five years, have you ever stopped and wondered why I left at all? What could make a man leave his home, leave his life, his morals, his mind, heart, _soul_ behind?"

"Elias, I-."

"Because no one ever does. You all want something from me, from The Ranger. Because that's what I am to you all, The Ranger. A legend. And legend's don't feel pain, they don't stop and look down at the blood on their hands..."

She could see the expression of his face twisting into sorrow as he looked down at his hands. It was killing her inside. She could feel her heart sink with every second. "Elias, you _help_ people..."

"And the people just go and get them selves in trouble again. They go and live out pointless fuckin' lives in this irradiated hell hole knowing that one day they'll probably see their loved ones raped and tortured by raiders or town apart by... abominations. But yet they ask me to help them. They all ask for The Ranger's help, a living legend. A living legend that, no matter how hard he tries, can't scrub off the blood from his fucking hands."

"They didn't care what happened to me, as long as what ever they wanted was met! My life was meaningless to them! I wanted to help people, and if that meant getting my hands dirty so that others wouldn't then that was fine. But now that I've gotten older, I can't look at my hand without seeing the blood, Alison."

"But now...I can't...I can't live a day without thinking nothing has changed. I was born missing something, and I'll die missing even more. Because everything I touch turns to blood and rust. And it just makes my hands more and more covered. One day I'll wake up and be covered in red. And that'll be the day when I'm done. I'll have lost everything and everyone, and it'll be just me. Owning nothing. Having no one. I'll die alone, in the dark, the way I was born. I'll see the faces of the ghosts I used to know. And I'll feel the weight of their deaths crush me until I can't breathe anymore."

"Then don't serve man!" She snapped back at him, causing him to look over his shoulder at her. "Man is _cruel_ , Elias. Sick and cruel, and you're servicing no one, least of all yourself, if you serve them."

It came rushing back to him. The old man's voice telling him something he didn't understand at the time. Telling him over and over again. _"It's a cruel world, and it breeds cruel men."_ and now here it was again. Standing before him like a ghost come back to haunt him.

"Something happened to you." She said, her voice cracking with emotion. "It broke you. Something terrible happened to you and you can't escape it, Elias. No matter how far you walk, no matter how many times you try to die. You can't escape what has been done to you. All you can do is learn to live with it, and lay it to peace."

He knew that Alison didn't know what he'd been through. No one did. It was only him, as it had been for years. So she couldn't have known how close to home her words hit him. There it was, the bitter pill to swallow. The truth, acting as a poison in a bottle. Die miserable and broken, or accept a horrible reality and mend the wound.

But he couldn't let it go, not now. He knew now what to do, but he didn't want to do it. He wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready to accept the fact. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, one final tear rolling down his scarred cheek.

Suddenly Alison's arms slid around his neck, pulling his head down and resting it on her shoulder. He was taken off guard and surprised by this. An act of affection, something he wasn't used to. Then again he wasn't used to any of this. Not even the tears he shed. One of her arms slid under his until her hand rested on the center of his slumped back. Her other hand resting on the back of his head. Something inside him suddenly collapsed.

He gave in. His hands laid on her waist and slid around her body until his arms were around her. He brought her body in close to his, holding her against him. He liked the feeling. The feeling of the affection, of her body pressed against his. And suddenly, as if what had happened wasn't enough, he felt one more thing.

His heart. It gave one solid, strong beat. Then it kept a steady pace afterwords. He could feel it, for the first time in how many years he could feel his heart beating in his chest. And he realized that, long ago, he had convinced himself he didn't have one. And he was better off for it.  
But now, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, and nuzzled his face into her neck. The act took Alison by surprise, but she wasn't against it. She held him tighter, stroking her hand down the back of his neck. They embraced each-other, on the top of that hill. The massive orange rising sun behind them, turning the sky yellow.

And for both of them, for one moment, it didn't feel so bad to be alive.

They rode back and along a somewhat beaten path before turning off and riding up to the top of a sand covered hill. Elias knew they were on the overlook of the hospital, but was willing to do something he hadn't done in a long while. Trust.

They dismounted the strider, and Elias kept the reins in his hand. Alison pulled the Anti-material rifle from the rifle's holster on the side of the strider, and found a flat spot on the top of the hill. She set the rifle up, and looked over to Elias. "In the saddle-bag there's a stick of dynamite and my lighter. Grab them. When I tell you to, light the dynamite and throw it down near that old car. We need to draw it out."

Elias gave a nod and retrieved the items from the bag, then waited for her to adjust the sights on the rifle. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ready." She replied afterwords. Elias lit the fuse on the dynamite and threw it as hard as he could down at the old car. In that moment he was glad Alison had patched him up last night, or he would have been unable to make that throw and be in pain from it.

The dynamite hit the hood of the of the car and bounced into the front seat. They only had to wait perhaps three seconds before the dynamite exploded and, in the process, exploded the car into a small mushroom cloud of fire and smoke. Debris scattered, hitting the ground, and the car lifted momentarily off the ground upon the explosion before slamming back down. Elias cringed and held the strider's reins as it whinnied and tried to back away. "Easy, girl. Easy." he comforted it, not even sure if it was a stallion or a mare.

The sound of the fire crackling was the only noise heard for a moment, and Elias began to fear the Deathclaw had moved on. That they would have to track it. But after a moment of nothing but silence, the beast emerged from the hospital.

Ran out in great strides then slowed once it was near the burning vehicle. It stood straight up on it's hind legs, claws digging into the ground. Raising it's head, it began sniffing the air, It's claws were already extended, ready for a kill. It craved one.

Alison lined the red bead in the center of the scope up with the Deathclaw's head. She took in a deep breath, then slowly began letting it out. Another moment of Silence. Elias gripped the reins of the Strider tighter in his hand as he braced.

Alison pulled the trigger, and the ground shook. Dust flew up around her and the gun recoiled into her shoulder. The sound of the shot echoed through the canyons and hills all around them. But the bullet hit under the Deathclaw's chin, blowing the top of it's head outwards. It's massive body toppled to the ground with a plume of dust, and she could already see blood running out of it's head around it's body, wetting the ground around it.

She took her eye away from the scope and let out her breath, smiling at her handy work. It had been too long sense she handled a gun. She looked over at Elias and smiled. "Told you it would be okay."

Elias smirked nervously and gave a chuckle to boot. She giggled at his nervousness. For such a rough man, he did have a soft-side. And did have his human fears, such as Deathclaws. She stood, picking up her rifle as she did. "C'mon, we'll do our best to clear the place of supplies."

They walked down the hill, Elias leading the Strider. He couldn't believe she had actually done it. He trusted her, and for once his trust was well put. She'd taken the shot and killed one of the baddest beasts in the wasteland's.

She looked over at him, watching him keep sentry on the horizon. Always looking for the next sign of danger. She smiled and looked away, thinking about the embrace on the top of the hill. She shouldn't have done it, but she wanted to. She wanted to and gave into that want. It had been to long since she felt the arms of another around her.

She smiled again and bowed her head. The day had just begun, and already it was the best she had in years.


	9. Chapter 9 Something for Everybody

The Strider galloped to the gate's of the town with Elias and Alison sitting upon it. The beast was suddenly halted at the entrance by a man in faded green combat armor. It whinnied and reared back with a firm tug on it's reins. Front hoofs kicking wildly with the dry hiss, the man put his hands up and ducked down, backing up a little.

"Hendrix!" Alison shouted, looking around Elias. "What the hell are you trying to do? Get yourself run down!?" Her tone was angry, as was the piercing look in her brow.

John Hendrix was the chief of the town's guard, and had been for the better part of ten years. He knew the in's and outs of daily life in the town, and ran a tight ship when it came to the guards. He was a tall and broad shouldered black man with short black hair. You could see the sense of panic in his eyes and the sweat glistening on his brow. "Thank _Christ_ you're back!" He groveled as Alison dismounted the Strider.

She untied two full satchels of medicine off the strider and handed them to a waiting guard. " _Get these to the doctor._ " She said in a low tone. The guard nodded and put the strap on his shoulder, taking off sprinting for the clinic. She turned her attention to chief Hendrix. "What's wrong now?"

John shook his head then sighed, his breathing heavy. "I don't even know where to begin to explain this shit." He mumbled.

"It's okay." Elias spoke up, hands resting on-top of one another on the hitch of the saddle. "Just take a breath and start from the beginning."

He took a deep breath then let it out, perhaps a little to quick. "I was minding my wards and doing my daily rounds. All was quiet and well, up until about an hour after you left. One of my guards ran up, hands covered in blood, and tells me _'Joe Hodgins' has been shot!'_ I thought Joe got drunk again and decided to pick a fight with one of my guards, and things got heated."

"But no. I talked to Samantha, and she said it was just some guy. Joe being his drunken dumb-ass self bumped into the man, cursed him out. Some words were exchanged and when Joe put his fists up, the man pulled a gun and shot Joe three times in the torso."

Alison's rage only grew, and you could see it in her eyes. See it in the way her body shifted. "How the hell did he get a gun? Who was he?"

"I don't know, I don't know either of those things! The armory is always on lock-down, that damn turret on the cieling would have lit anyone who wasn't an authorized member up, and I _definitely_ would have heard about that."

Elias wrinkled his brow then slid off the saddle. His spurs chimed against the ground when his boots hit the dirt. Taking off his hat he pushed his sweat dampened hair back, then put the hat back on. His right hand went down and naturally rested on the handle of his revolver. "You get drifter's in town? Like me?"

"Sometimes, yeah, but I have the guards security check them and confiscate any weapons. We even tried to do yours, but saw you bleeding and pointed you to the clinic."

Elias looked past Hendrix into the town which, despite all that was happening, still seemed to be busy as ever. "Do you or Samantha happen to keep a voucher of everyone who's visited the town recently."

"I know I do." Alison said pinching the bridge of her nose with her head bowed, eyes closed tight. "And I know Sam does. Me and Hendrix will go pull up some paper-work, would you go and talk to Sam?"

Elias nodded his head and pulled the trench-coat over his weapon. It's coat-tails blew to the right with a gust of wind not long after, as he headed for the big billboard like sign advertising _'Samantha's Cat-house. Come for the liquor, and cum for the girls.'_ It had been years since Elias stepped foot in a brothel. He didn't much care for the typical crowed which stayed there, or the typical girls who tried to 'seduce' him.

He opened one of the wooden double doors and walked straight into a somber, gloom filled room. A body laid on the floor with a blood soaked sheet draped over him, blood pooled around it. Crying girls sat around, trying to comfort one another. Elias saw Sam smoking a cigarette and setting next to the railing on the second floor, staring down at the body. He looked down at the sheet and sighed, reaching up and taking his hat off. He hung it on the coat-rack next to him then walked forward, careful to step over the smeared blood in the wooden floor.

Sam took a drag of the cigarette between her fingers and blew it out seemingly as heavy as she could. "Fine-fuckin'-mornin' to ya, Ranger." She said watching him walk up to her. He grabbed the back of a chair and pulled it out, taking a seat across from her. Nudging his head towards he pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I had one?"

She handed him the one between her fingers and he took it, seeing the cherry red lipstick on it's butt. "Just lit it." She mumbled, her shaky hands fumbling with the package. He looked down at them then stuck the butt of the stogie between his lips, before reaching out and grabbing the pack, opening it, and pulling one out. He brought it up to the height of her lips, and she looked at it them him for a moment. He could see her mascara had been running from the tears, and felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her.

She leaned forward, taking the butt between her lips and dragging it out of Elias' fingers. He grabbed up the lighter and flicked it open, lighting hers up. He noticed the four sets of fishnet stocking clad legs on the lighter. One near the cap and one on the cap. Once the cap opened, the legs appeared as if parting open. He chuckled and closed the lid, laying it down on the table. "You okay?" He asked softly.

She scoffed, reaching up and scratching the side of her nose as she stared down at the body. She closed her eyes and shook her head. He noticed her eyeshadow was a lime green color and had been painted into a cat-eye style. He took a drag of the cigarette and the Geiger counter on the pip-boy ticked wildly when he did so. They were pre-war, and bound to have been laced with radiation. But all he could taste was her sweet lipstick on it.

"He was right in-front of me." She grumbled. "I was behind the bar, and he was in-front of me. The man, the stranger...had on a coat, but it was weird, it didn't have any arms, it was just kinda draped around him. Joe grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, getting ready to swing. He didn't see the gun just waiting for him."

Elias' eyes looked down to the table before he closed them, thinking back to the first time he saw someone killed. It was a raider who attacked the shack where he grew up. His dad caught him off guard as he came through the door. It happened so fast, and the raider didn't stand a chance. His dad kicked the side of his knee and broke the leg, bringing him down. When he was down, he grabbed his head by the chin and opposite side of the head, then did a quick twist. Elias heard a sickening crack, and the man's head went limp as his body fell forward. He remembered having a hard time believing he'd ever be able to do that to someone, and had a even harder time sleeping in that house for a while.

"What was the stranger doing before Joe grabbed him?" Elias asked, looking down at the covered body.

"Nothing." She said with a waver in her voice. "He had just walked in three minuets earlier and was looking around. I figured he was looking for one of my girls who wasn't taken, so I let him wait. Asked him if he wanted a drink, he shook his head and..." She paused, her expression blanking, then looking over into Elias' eyes. "He had an accent, it was funny like. Not native, I don't even think American. He just said _'no thank you',_ but I could tell you it was him if I just heard his voice."

Elias nodded his head and sat forward, taking another drag and listening to the electronic clicking. "Did you get him filed in your registry."

She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. "I can only have them sign if they have a drink or partake in some...pleasantries. I'm sorry, I know that would have made it easier. I'll hire a bouncer and put him on the door, make everyone sign upon entry and I'll just keep tally of how much they spend."

Elias nodded. "That's a smart idea." He put the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up, pushing the chair back into the table. He reached out, laying his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with her big, teary puppy dog eyes and smiled. "If you ever need anything, I'll be there."

She nodded her head and he slid his hand off her, beginning to walk towards the stairs. " _Hey!_ " She called out to him, causing him to look back. "Is Carter here?"

Elias shrugged. "He wasn't when I rode in, but he may have come back. If I see him I'll send him your way."

She nodded her head, wiping away a tear. "Thanks sugar."

Grabbing his hat, he left in a hurry as his mind swirled with what she had told him. A man, with a strange accent, and was wearing something that sounded like an old duster that fitted over your cloths to keep the grime off them. He was probably wearing a hat too or she would have told him what he looked like.

He made his way down the hill as quickly as he could, wondering if Alison and Hendrix had found anything. He watched his footing down the hill, careful not to misstep. When he looked up, he was greeted with the sight of Carter rushing his way up. "Elias." He said slowing down. "Is she okay, is Sam okay?"

Elias nodded, reaching out and shaking Carter's hand. "Yeah, she's fine." He said as he did so. Carter sighed in relief. "She asked about you."

He shook his head, his hands resting on his hip. "I rode in as soon as Hendrix radioed me. Did you find anything out?"

Elias nodded and looked down the hill were he saw Alison walking with Hendrix, talking to him with a clipboard of papers in her hand. "Yeah, just keep an ear out for a man in a classic-duster and a funny accent." he replied not looking at him. "Don't worry about that right now, Carter. Sam's waiting for you."

Carter nodded and patted Elias on the shoulder as he continued his sprint up the hill. Elias could tell that they cared for each-other from the way they panicked without one another. They weren't subtle about it, but Elias didn't mind. There has to be someone-something- for everyone, after-all. He hurried his descent down the hill after Alison.

"Hey!" Elias shouted, stopping Alison and Hendrix. He sprinted up to them, laying his hand on her arm and guiding her towards Hendrix. "You got any paper-work on someone who rode into town with a funny accent?"

Hendrix's eyes suddenly widened with surprise. As if the answer to a riddle told ages ago had finally occurred to him. "I think I do!" He exclaimed. "I remember that last night a man came through and had a weird accent. He sounded...British, but not quiet. Like it was more southern. I don't know, I can only say from what I've heard on old holo-tapes."

Elias paused as he thought back to all the books he'd read as a kid. History books were some of his favorites. He recalled a possible answer and nodded. "Australian. He must have been Australian."

Alison looked at the two of them and nodded. "That should be easy to find, right?"

Elias shrugged. "Depends. From the way Sam talked it sounded like he was looking for something, or someone, and Joe attacked him. When he spun around he had a gun ready."

She bowed her head and sighed, and Hendrix shook his. Elias could tell they had both known Joe for a long time, but perhaps weren't on good relations with him. "We'll get to the bottom of this. Alison, Carter just rode into town and made his way up to Sam's place, can you go see if you can comfort her as well and get any more info?"

She reached down, taking the walkie-talkie off her belt and handing it to Hendrix. He took it and clipped it on his belt. "Be careful," Elias said in a near demanding tone. "whoever this person is, he's sneaky and clever. Just stick with Carter, I'll go with Hendrix up to Vic's place and ask around."

She nodded and turned around, walking down the short hill they had begun to climb. "C'mon." Hendrix said tossing a hand his way in a signal to follow. "Vic's is up here."

If you looked at the town now, as it was, you'd never think anything was wrong. There was still people sitting next to their houses in chairs they had brought out, drinking and laughing. Two kids ran past Hendrix and Elias. It was a normal day, and no-one was the wiser. Elias found it both comforting and disturbing, while Hendrix never payed attention to it.

Elias watched the well built man in-front of him. He had to be in his thirties, and was raised well. He was in good shape and acted more like a soldier then anything else. "Did you serve in the NCR?"

Hendrix glanced back at him. "Two tours." He gruffly replied with a hint of pride in his voice. "So four years. Joined when I was Seventeen, left when I was twenty one. I wasn't anyone special, I wasn't a ranger or anything like that. I was just your typical run-of-the-mill grunt."

Elias nodded his head and caught up to the man, looking over at him. "So how did you end up here?"

He chuckled and smirked. "The year I took my papers and ran, my folks were packing up and leaving for Rolinsville. They joined up with a large caravan heading that way, and I become our own caravan guard. I set my family up in the city, went looking for a job and found out that Prosperous Springs was looking for a man of experience to be the captain of the guard. I volunteered. Now, ten years later, here I am."

"Your parents still around?" Elias carefully asked.

"Yeah." Hendrix replied with a smirk. "Gettin' old and cranky, but they're still around. My sister takes care of 'em up in Rolinsville. I wanted to bring them out here, but...we're kinda on the edge of no-man's-land, and that means getting attacked a lot."

Elias looked over into the window of a house, where inside a bunch of little kids gathered around a young woman who was reading them a story from an old faded book. "You guys seem to have a well run operation out here, though."

Hendrix twisted his body to avoid bumping into two men carrying freshly distilled liquor down the hill in boxes. Most likely were heading towards Sam's where they'd get a nasty surprise. "Yeah, Alison runs it well. We're missing a few key players, though."

"Such as?"

"Well, what you see is what you got. I have a second in command but Alison is running it all by her self, Carter-despite how good he is at it-is the only runner we have, The Doc has an apprentice in the making but she has no real training before that, and when it comes to law and order me and the guards are it. Half the time we're busy patrolling the walls, and the _entire_ time nobody wants some young kids in armor with guns telling them what to do."

"Ah," Elias said nodding his head. "Authority problems. You guys need to be on the walls, but no one's there to watch over the people."

"Exactly. Always looking for trouble outside but paying no mind to the fire inside." Hendrix said keeping his eyes on the wooden door of the saloon that was approaching quickly.

Elias pulled the door open, and Hendrix stepped in first. The sound of old country music filled their ears and the smell of fresh coffee filled the air. Elias closed the door behind him, and Vic looked up from behind the bar, smiling at the two men. "Afternoon to ya!" He said tossing his towel over his shoulder and leaning forward on his hands. "What can I get for ya?"

Elias looked to the left and saw that their were only a few people in the place. A couple sat a table, the man talking about something that was making the girl giggle. To the right were booths that were almost all empty. All but one man who sat reading a book with a cup of steaming coffee in-front of him. "I guess you heard about Joe?" Hendrix asked taking a seat at the bar.

Vic somberly nodded and bowed his head. "Yeah, I did. It's a damn shame. But I don't know how many times I told the old coot to stop getting blasted and picking fights."

"Bound to happen then." Elias spoke up.

Vic nodded. "Sad but true. Are you guys...looking for who did it?"

The man took a sip of his coffee, looking up from his book to glance over at the two men who came in. Both had guns, but at-least one was a guard. _'The other could be a mercenary.'_ he thought to himself. He didn't know. He just knew that he looked like trouble. Then he took another sip of his coffee and went back to his book. Elias looked like trouble for everyone.

"Yeah," Elias replied, leaning forward against the bar on both his arms. "Has a man walk through here with a strange accent?"  
The patron at the booth looked up from his book one more time, but kept his eyes straight ahead. "Hmm..." Vic rubbed his chin and thought to himself. "Well, all kinds come through here. I've at-least five people with funny accents. What kind are you looking for?"

The man at the booth sighed, closing his book and laying his hands flat on the table. " _Australian?_ " he spoke up in the exact same accent.

Elias looked over at him, the man's accent registering in his head. His eyes widened then dilated as he pushed himself back off the bar and drew his right revolved, pulling the hammer back. Vic reached under the counter and grabbed the sawed-off shotgun he had stashed under it, and Hendrix pulled the hunting rifle from his back and aimed it at the man. _"Easy!"_ the man in the booth said slowly raising his arms above his head. "Easy there, cowboy."

"Get up." Elias growled at him, staring him down and not even taking the chance of blinking. The man didn't move, instead he swallowed hard. "Get the fuck up!" Elias shouted, worrying the other couple in the room as they had their backs pressed against the wall. Vic turned around to them and nodded to the door. The man grabbed the woman's hand they both carefully bolted for the door, leaving in the fastest fashion they could.

The man in the booth slowly slid one leg out, then the other. Then he stood, took two steps away from his booth, and turned to Elias. "I'm unarmed, your town guard took my guns away from me. I pose no threat to you or-."

"Shut up." Elias cut him off with a snarl. "I don't want to hear how innocent you are. I want you to give me one goddamned reason why I shouldn't vent your fuckin' brains all over this floor."

The Australian man stared seriously into Elias' eyes. "If I were the one who shot your friend Joe, why the hell would I have spoke up?" Elias went quiet, keeping his eyes and his gun trained on the man. "Why would I have made myself known if I was the man you were looking for?"

"Then how did you know we were looking for an Australian?" Elias growled in return.

"Ever occur to you that there may have been more then one in your fuckin' town? I rode in a week ago, and have been staying in one of the apartment's Victor here rents out. I'm paid through Thursday, I've ordered a cup of coffee, black, each morning, and am fond of gecko and mole-rat, blackened."

Hendrix looked over at Vic, who looked at him in return. He nodded his head in agreement with the man's story. "He came in a few days before you did, Elias." He spoke up. "Asked for a room, paid up until Thursday."

"But you know who we're looking for." Elias responded, getting a nod from the man. "Who?"

The man sighed. "That's a long story."

"Give me the short version."

The man nodded his head then drew in a deep breath. "My name is Avery Malcolm. I'm a former Mercenary...Hired escort mostly, but I got hired on and worked for a company known as The Vagabond's outside of Washington D.C. for a few years. I decided I'd had enough of that life, and retired, also deciding to go back to New Vegas where I grew up. Upon my return, I was greeted by some thugs who claimed I owed one of the houses a lot of caps. Ten thousand to be exact. I said that's impossible, I had only just gotten here. They demanded I pay up. I had no choice but to refuse. They drew first, but I was the one who walked away."

"Ever since then a man by the name of Race Burton has been hunting me. I think he's either a Mercenary or a Bounty Hunter, or one of the houses hired goons, I don't know. I fear he's caught up with me. And in the process of looking for me, has wrongfully taken a life. And believe me, you have no idea how much guilt that thought brings me."

"Great," Elias grumbled, relaxing his stance but keeping the gun trained on the man. "at least you have a grasp on the magnitude of shit you've brought down on this town."

"I do apologize, sir. And I will make every attempt to-."

"Elias." he corrected him as he holstered his pistol with a huff, confusing Hendrix who still had his rifle trained on the man's head. "We call out father's sir. I'm Elias."

Avery nodded. _"Elias."_ He repeated his name, not sure if he should lower his hands or not. He feared the city guard was more trigger happy then he first thought. "I swear to you, I will make this right."

Elias titled his head curiously and slanted his brow. "I've never met a man so willing to throw himself on a blade, before."

Avery chuckled and bowed his head. It was an act Elias knew all too well. It let him know the Avery was infinitely more then what was shown on the surface. "I don't intend to fall on any blades, Elias." He looked back up at him with his hands on his hips. "I intend to help see to this man's capture."

"That's great." Elias said with a smirk, nodding his head. "You can help _me_ by telling me what he looks like."

Avery paused then exhaled slowly. It was another tell. Elias had seen people who were disappointed in themselves, or their actions, do the same thing. "I didn't see his face. He ambushed me on the road, I never got a clear look at him. The last I saw though was he was wearing some lighter toned leather armor and a black duster. Not like yours though."

 _"Fuckin' perfect."_ Elias mumbled as he looked away. A sense of rage suddenly flowed through his veins, like someone had went out of their way to personally offend him. Maybe it was because he knew his job had just gotten much harder. Or maybe he didn't like the fact he knew Avery was keeping details from him. Deep down he knew he was, that Avery wanted to be the man to settle his own debts. And Elias would just be party to witnessing his death.

"Look, this man attacked like a season vet." Avery said, also talking in expressions with his hands. It made Hendrix nervous. "He knew where I was, what route I was talking. He didn't give any sign he was there, he didn't rush things. He opened fire and had me pinned down. Announced himself afterwords like I should know his name, then said _'I've come to collect.'_ Then we were attacked by a raider group. I barely had time to escape."

"Sounds like you got off lucky." Elias spoke bluntly and in a tone that suggested he was getting fed up with this conversation.

"Perhaps so," Avery replied hastily. "but it wasn't lucky for your friend who was killed. If you're going after this man, I want to come with you. I want to help you."

Elias chuckled and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall and raising one leg, pressing it against the wall behind him. Avery couldn't help but to think of what characters the wastes make out of people. Elias was the spitting image of a cowboy, right down to the southern draw in his voice and the hat on his head. "The thought's appreciated." Elias groveled at him. "But you'd only get in my way. And from here on, every man who dies by the hands of this Burton fellow, I'm putting on your head."

Avery sighed heavily, more irritated this time, then looked over at Hendrix who still had the rifle trained on him. Elias turned his head and looked at the guard. Hendrix wasn't a judging fellow. He was a by the books and rule following man. Therefor didn't know how to weigh a man's character as well as Elias did. Elias was surprised that he was the first to lower his gun, usually he was the one who kept it up until the end. Perhaps old age was tearing at his sensibility, or perhaps he truly did believe the man's story. He did feel an honesty there, even if it was veiled.

Finally Hendrix gave in to the over bearing stare of Elias, and lowered his rifle. Avery sighed again, this time a breath of relief, and slowly let his hands drop to his sides. "Thank you." he said to both men. He then turned and looked at Elias. "Are you the town's peacekeeper? The Sheriff, so to speak?"

Elias was once again taken off guard. The man was unusually well mannered, well spoken, and he sensed there was something deeper there. That was the first time he was taken off his guard. This time came with that question. Something he didn't realize he was acting as. He was simply helping where he could, and hadn't realized he'd fit the place of a sheriff.

He shook his head no. "Just a man, Mr. Malcolm. But a man who's gonna do what needs to be done."

Avery paused then titled his head as he looked at Elias. "And just what is it you think I intend to do? Let him kill me, or capture me?"

Elias chuckled indignantly and reached up, taking his hat off and running his finger through his sweat dampened hair once again. He pushed it all back, then put the hat back on over it. "I don't give a solid _shit_." He replied with a snarl. "I intend on finding Race Burton and putting a hole through his fuckin' head. What happens with you is completely up to _you_. If another person dies because of him, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna kill you. If you hurt a person, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna kill you. If you piss me off, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna kill you."

Avery stared at him for a moment, then leaned against the table of the booth next to him. "And what if I prefer living?"

Elias stared at him for a moment then pushed himself off the wall, standing straight up and drawing in a deep breath. "Then you'd best not piss me off, and hope I kill that sumbitch before he can hurt anyone else." He then turned and made for the door, opening it and casting light into the dim room along with a gust of hot air. Turning his head and looking back at Avery, he spoke up one more time. "Hendrix, put a guard in his room with him. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere." Then he departed, closing it behind him.

Alison was walking up the hill as Elias was coming down. "Hey." She exclaimed with a tone that suggested she was happy to see him. "You find anything out?"

Elias sighed. He grumbled _"Situation just got a whole lot more complicated."_ as he walked by her, causing her slight smile to fade away to a grim look. She turned and followed him down the hill. "There's two Australians in the town. I just met one, Avery Malcolm. Claims a man named Race Burton has come to collect a blood debt. I told Hendrix keep an eye on him, so he's not going anywhere. He'll regret it if he does."

"Fuck." she silently mumbled. "Do you know where or how we can find Race?"

Elias shook his head. "Coulda skipped town, but he's most likely laying low somewhere. I think Avery was waiting for him."

Alison looked over at Elias. "Really?" She asked in a tone of disbelief that matched the look in her eyes.

"Yeah." He simply replied. "When we came in, he was just sitting in a booth reading a book. But he kept his eye on me the entire time, I could see him. So I do be he didn't know much of Race outside of a name. They ran into each-other, and Avery didn't get a good look at him, or the man was wearing a mask."

 _"Shit."_ She replied, suddenly looking around nervously. "So what do we do, where do we even start? Should I put the town on lock-down?"

"No." Elias said as quick and sure as he could. "That would likely spook him or make him more reckless, and the last thing we need is more people getting hurt or-god forbid- ending up like Joe."

Alison somberly replied. "Then you have a plan?" Her tone was hushed and a little breathy. Elias looked over at her and saw the emotion in her eyes. He stopped and reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder and stopping her as well as turning her towards him. _"Listen,"_ He said softly. "I'm sorry about your friend, I truly am. I'm gonna come up with something, don't you worry. But I need you somewhere safe."

She shakily exhaled and nodded her head, reaching up and wiping away the formation of tears. "My house is as safe as it gets. I'll even bring Carter and Sam."

"Alright." Elias said with a nod, then began to turn away.

There was a sudden and vice-like grip on his hand, stopping him with a cry out of her voice saying; _"Wait!"_ He looked back at her with concern written across his face. He hadn't expected her to outburst like this. Her eyes gazed up into his, longing for an answer. Seeking the truth in them. She found only a cold and bitter wasteland, just like the one outside the gate's. Softly she spoke to him; _"What are you going to do...?"_

Elias paused, considering the weight she put behind her words. He stared down into her eyes, emotionless but clinching and relaxing his jaw, gritting his teeth as he thought about the answer. It was an answer she didn't want. And perhaps one he didn't want either. Gripping her hand tightly in return, he spoke in a low grovel. "I'm gonna do what I do best."  
He let go of her hand and turned away, walking with a sure-fire determination in each step. He could feel a hot, boiling rage building inside of him as he thought about Race being somewhere in the town, smiling as he watched the guards scramble to find answers. Elias didn't want answers, though. He wanted blood.

A knock came from the front door of the clinic, and the doc looked over his shoulder from what he was doing. The door opened quickly, and a man stepped in, closing it just as quick. He took his leather cowboy hat off, the doc taking notice of the left side being pinned up against the side of it.

The man beat the dust off the hat, sighting at it's condition. Looking over at the doc he gave a smile and nod, hanging the hat on the coat-rack next to the door. "Howdy." The doc said with a nod, wondering if the man was new to town.

The man looked back at him as he undid the leather straps around his neck, taking of the absent-armed-duster and hanging it on the coat rack. "Howdy back at ya, good sir." The man spoke with a peculiar accent.

The doc gave a smile and laid the broom against the wall. The man was wearing a set of very lightweight leather armor. No shoulder padding, more just a jacket and pants then anything else. His hair was shoulder length and a dirty brown color. He kept it pushed back, out of his just-as-light brown eyes. "What can I do ya for?" The doc asked, brushing his hands off.

"Well," The man shifted, touching his left side. "I'm afraid that, in my rush to get to town before the sun set on my arse, I ran into some unsavory types and got grazed." He gently touched his side where the armor had a small cut in it.

"I see." The doc said, staring at the wound. "I'd be willing to patch it for you, if you got the caps."

The man smiled and patted the pouch on his belt. "Never leave home without 'em."

"Well alright then." The doc said turning away and walking back to the storage closet. "Have a seat in that room in-front of ya, and take yer jacket and shirt off."

The man stood in the hall and watched the doc reach into his shirt, pulling out a key around a chain out of his shirt and taking it off his neck. He fit it into the lock on the door then opened it right up, flicking on the light as he went in. The wounded man could see metal shelf after metal shelf of supplies. He smirked and walked forward, entering his room.

He liked this town. Took a liars debt to get him here, but he found it quaint and charming. He figured there was no harm in hanging around for a little while longer. Seeing what sort of entertainment the town presented to him.


	10. Chapter 10 Seek the Judas

"What your favorite sound?" She asked from the bed behind him, laying on her stomach with her B cub breasts pressed into her arms that were crossed under her. Red satin sheets draped over her rear, only her smooth back visible.

He blinked himself out of his daze and picked his head up off his shoulder, raising the glass of scotch in his hand and finishing off the last of it. "My favorite sound?" he asked with confusion in his voice.

"Yeah." She giggled, looking up at him in his leather seat. His back was turned to her. He thought she was pretty, but he'd spent the whole evening staring at everything she had to offer. And he loved gazing out the window into the night, seeing the neon lit streets of New Vegas under him. "My favorite is violin. You don't hear many, but the sound they carry...that beautiful sound.

He smiled at her naturally bubbly nature. She knew how to lift his spirits when he was feeling glum, or calm him when he was tense. He'd been seeing her exclusively for three months, and fucking her two months before that. Started out every weekend. Moved to the weekend plus Monday. Soon it was every other day. He loved the way her body moved against his. The way she moaned on his neck and shoulder, or the way her soft hands dragged their way down his body. She was the high-point of most of his days. "That's beautiful, babe." He replied, leaning back in his chair.

"My favorite sound...you know I love to hear you moan, right?" He leaned his head back and looked at her, his light brown eyes catching her green ones. She giggled and blushed, and he smirked at the sound. "And your giggle."

"Be serious!" She said with a wide smile.

He chuckled and looked back out the window, his smirk remaining. "I'm always serious." He replied, reaching over and grabbing the bottle of scotch. Pouring himself another drink, he thought more about it. "I like...the sound of gunshots." he replied, laying the bottle back on table, taking a sip of the full glass not long after. "They tell me _everything_ I need to know."

She cocked her head to the side, her shoulder length hair draping to one side. "How's that?"

He drew in a breath of chilled but fresh air, perhaps with a hint of her intoxicating scent on the air. "They tell me that someone's going to die. To get get my gun ready. The faster the shots, the more desperate the shooter. He wants his target dead before his target manages to do him in. But the slow, methodical shots...the one's that pace them selves. Those are the dangerous ones. Because the shooter isn't afraid of his attacker. He knows that the poor son-of-a-bitch was dead the moment his gun was drawn."

She smiled at his confidence. He had that way about him. It was a wise confidence too, not one born of ignorance or over-estimation. Race Burton knew exactly what he was capable of. "So, which one are _you?"_

He stared out the window and into the dark sky. The neon lights dampened the starlight, but he didn't care. A night sky was all the same to him. He took another drink of his scotch and savored the flavor. "I've never fired a single shot out of desperation. I always knew what was coming next. Always knew that I'd pull faster and shoot straighter then other man."

"And what about the day when you don't?" She ask, rolling over on her back and looking at him upside-down, her bare chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

He smirked and looked over his shoulder at her, admiring her beautiful body one more time. He suddenly longed to run his hands over it again, to have his lips pulling at hers, to taste he salty skin. He'd long for that feeling even when he was old and grey. "That day ain't gonna come any time soon, doll. I'll hang up my guns and spend the rest of my life with you before anyone get's the chance."

She smiled, her white teeth showing against peach colored lips. He smiled back and laid the drink down, standing up and walking back over to the bed. She reached up for him, and he crawled over next to her, sliding his arms around her body and kissing her soft, supple lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck and ran through his light brown hair. They made love for the third time that night. On the satin sheets, to the sound of slow music under the watchful gaze of the stars.

Three heavy, steady knocks came from the front door of his suite. He raised his head off his pillow, eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight that beat through the window and attempted to blind him. He could feel her behind him, feel her ass pressed to his. The knocks came again, and he sighed. Sliding out of bed and getting his lower half dressed before walking over to the door. He ran his fingers through his bed-wrangled hair and pushed it all back. Then reached out, grasping the polished-silver doorknob and twisting, pulling it open.

A chubby, olive skinned fellow by the name of Lawrence stood with his arms crossed in a respectful manner. His thin black hair was greased back and so tight to his head, you could swear it was fake. "Morning sunshine." He said as sarcastically as he could. Reaching a hand out he passed along a set of papers to Race, who sleepily took them and began reading. "We gotta another kill order for ya."

"Jesus, Lu." Race groaned and looked up at the man. "Wish you wouldn't call it that. I'm not a damn assassin."

"No, you're not." Lu corrected himself in a matter of fact fashion. "You're currently Gomorrah's best hired gun, and we pay you well. So technically, you're whatever the fuck we want you to be. If I show up one day with a leather studded cock-piece, you're gonna wear the fuckin' thing and dance on the stage."

 _"Bite me."_ Race said unenthusiastic, causing Lu to laugh and smile, patting the man's shoulder. Race wrinkled his brow and looked up. "So this Malcolm fellow really killed four of our guys?"

Lu nodded, causing Race to raise a brow and give an expression of impression as he went back to reading. "Owes us a shitload of caps to. So you can see why we want him dead so bad. And our property returned."

"How much?" Race cut to the chase as he casually red over the report.

"Whoa, what, we already talking price?"

"How much, Lu?" He asked again, finally looking up.

Lu scoffed and recrossed his arms. "Three thousand, two upfront and two when you come back with our shit."

Race blinked a few times, causing Lu to sigh and shrug his shoulders in a gesture of _'what now?'_ Race scoffed and leaned against the door frame. "Three thousand..." He repeated himself, staring into the man's eyes. "Out of the ten thousand I'm stealing back."

Lu shrugged again. "So? Three's a good deal, kid. Take what you can get."

"You mean pull down your pants and bend over, right?" Race said, tossing the paper back to Lu. "You walk away with seven and I with three, how is that even remotely fair? You seriously expected me to take that bullshit?"

" _Oh Jesus!_ " Lu cursed with a irritated and indignant look on his face. His brow slanted and wrinkled and eyes piercing into Race's. "Kid-fine! Fine, forty five hundred caps. Huh? How 'bout that?"

Race stared into Lu's eyes, thinking about the deal. This man had shot and killed four guys. He either had an advantage or he wasn't a push-over. Either way, both would be trouble. But this...this was an interest. To many crap jobs chasing down junkies who owed caps to the house. He needed a fight that made him feel alive. He needed to look into someone's eyes, someone capable, and see the vibrant panic and fear when they knew they were done for. He reveled in every fight because of that look.

The deal was struck. Race was to track this cheat and retrieve the stolen money, by any means necessary. He knew what that meant. That this Avery fellow was simply fair game. Sometimes, a cat catching a mouse was less about eating, and more about the hunt.  
Race turned his head and looked out at the daylight that had overridden the neon streets of New Vegas. A city of sin and debauchery. The world was gone and burned to ash, but some things never changed. He assumed that applied to people as well.

Always going to be someone who runs from what they have to do. And someone who stands and does what _he_ has to. Those were the two kinds of men. And he'd never met anyone who'd stand and do what they had to. The only one he knew of was sitting in the penthouse of the Lucky 38 casino, watching his robots roam the wastes and thinking back on the distant life he once lived as a courier.

His girl had begged him not to go, taken his hand and pulled him back towards the bed. He chuckled as he nearly fell over onto her, but managed to catch himself on the foot-board of the bed. She slid her arms around his neck and kisses his lips fondly, sincerely. He kissed her back with just as much sincerity. There was something there, he thought to himself. Something between him and her that couldn't be denied.  
He put on his hat and tipped the front of it to her. She smiled and gave a nod back. Then he left the room, leaving her on the bed. She stared at the door for a minuet, wondering if maybe he'd change his mind and come back. But that minuet passed. And she knew her answer. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, laying her head on her knees. Maybe one day he'd stay. Maybe one day he'd hang those guns up and stay with her.

He had a lot of time to ponder as he walked the desolate, abandoned highways and paved roads that spanned through the Mojave. Lot of time to ponder the meaning of the type of man he was. He didn't think he was a bad guy, but knew there would be people who disagreed completely. He felt sorry for those people, but also envied him. The sorry factor came from them not knowing who he truly was, only judging him on what he did. The envy came from them not having to know what it was to do what you had to do.

He'd been a good and quick shot ever since the days of raising bighorner's and brahmin at the family ranch. That was a long time ago, and he even felt as if he were a different man back then. People do change, and he'd imagine he would shed his skin like a snake here soon enough.  
Dry and hot wind hit him, sweeping dirt across the cracked highway in-front of him. He reached into his coat and pulled out his canteen of water, taking a sip from it and savoring the refreshing taste. The sun was really beating down today, and he cursed this Avery fellow for making him chase after him in such deplorable heat.

Thee hours passed, and he'd seen little other then some gecko's and a bloatfly. Both were easily dispatched, he'd been dealing with those types of critters all his life. They may have scared him once, but that time had long since passed. He didn't fear much, now-a-days. He'd been jaded by the wastes. But not enough to where he didn't care about anything, despite the wastes having the ability to do so to men and women. That's what he feared. The one's who'd been so jaded and callused by it all, that they no longer felt anything.

Avery seemed like a predictable man, if not somewhat surprising. He obviously had an upper hand in the fight with the four guards that got him into this mess. But he ran all the same, and everyone saw him taking the I-515 and on through towards Texas way. He'd stay that course. He wasn't bold, brazen or ballsy enough to venture to far into the wilderness. And if he did, it was a good thing Race was a good enough tracker.

But he wouldn't have to. Thirty more minuets passed, and finished his hike to the top of a hill and stared down at the slope towards the setting sun. Cars littered the roadway like a child's toys. Over-turned on there roofs and on there sides. Rusted and charred from the great war. There had to be hundreds of them.

But among them all, walked a long figure in dark leather armor. Looked reinforced from where he was standing. The man had short brown hair, and a hunting revolver strapped to his side. A powerful gun, which may have been his advantage. This had to be Avery Malcolm. If it wasn't, then it was some hoodlum going to cause trouble. Either way, they had to be put down.

Race reached to his side and pulled his scoped 9mm handgun and made the descent down the hill. He was careful not to kick and debris or draw any attention to himself. Avery was keeping a modest pace which told him he wasn't aware he was being hunted yet. So Race weaved his way though his cars, thanking Christ that he didn't have to walk to far to find this cheating coward.

He waited until he was a comfortable distance away from Avery. Not to close but far enough back where he was sure he could get a good shot. There was a burned-out car in-front of him, which would help tilt the odds in his favor.  
He stepped onto the fender of the burning car, then up to the trunk, then the roof. He took aim at Avery, taking a deep and slow breath. He could hear the rusted metal of the car creaking under his weight, and hoped it wouldn't alert him.

The red-dot of his sights was aimed directly on Avery's back. The cat would have it's kill. But just as he was about to fire, the hood of the car suddenly buckled and crumbled, sending Race's right foot through the roof. He misfired, the bullet hitting a car beside Avery.  
Avery wasted no time diving into cover. He pressed his back against a cement road-block, the car which the bullet had hit was in-front and to the left of him. He was fairly well hidden here, but he knew that his assassin was all to aware of his location. He guessed that something sudden had gone awry for him to miss, or that he was just a terrible shot.

Race pulled his leg out of the hole, silently cursing under his breath. He bent his right arm, the pistol pointing straight in the air. He Avery pinned, just where he wanted him. There was no point of hiding any intentions from a dead man. _"Avery Malcolm!"_ he shouted out to the coward. _"My name is Race Burton. And you owe our mutual friends some caps, and some blood!"_

Avery cursed and pulled his revolver. He didn't have many shots left, and knew that this Race fellow wasn't joking around. He'd be lucky to get a shot off, and even luckier if it hit him and Race missed. Avery wasn't sure he wanted to risk that, so he sighed, then inhaled another deeper breath. _"I didn't steal your fuckin' caps! I don't even have ten thousand caps!"_

 _"Bullshit!"_ Race shouted back, showing a supreme lack of both negotiation skills and of reasoning. Avery cursed under his breath, then looked up at a darting figure that had moved past a open door of one of the cars in-front of him. He squinted and pulled the hammer back on his revolver. _"Here's what's gonna happen,"_ Race suddenly shouted.

Suddenly from somewhere in among the wreckage, a lever-action rifle was fired. The bullet clipped Race's side, causing him to recoil to the right and yelp in pain. The figure that Avery had seen suddenly stood up, 10mm pistol in his outstretched arm. Around his waist a dirty silver quilt was tied, and on his shoulder a cut-in-half tire was strapped. These were Viper's, or Jackal's. One of the many dying raider gangs of the Mojave.

Before the fool could even get a shot off, Avery had his gun pointed up at him. He fired once, and the powerful hand-cannon tore the entire top left side of the man's head off. He flew off his feet and to his left, a blood and brain shower carried with the bullet.

Suddenly and all at once, several raiders stood from their hidden positions among the wreckage. Most didn't have a pin on Avery, they only saw Race standing atop of one of the cars. Avery saw this as his chance, and-still crouched-dashed forward as fast as he can.

Gunfire from all side's opened up, and Race barely had enough time to raise his gun and fire twice at Avery before having to jump down and take cover. Both bullets narrowly flew past the fleeing man. Avery scooped the 10mm pistol off his would-be-killers body, and kept running.  
Race cursed aloud now, shuffling along-side the car until he was at the front of it. He cautiously peaked around the corner, only to have a hail of gunfire open up on the front of the car. He jerked his head back just before a few bullets slammed into the pavement in-front of him. He counted six, but no telling how many more were in hiding. All he could hope was that maybe one of them would see the fleeing Avery and mow him down, or at-least wound him.

Race heard scuffling footsteps from his left, coming from the rear of the car. He guessed one or two of the raiders decided to try to take him by surprise again, but were either high on chems or just miserable at sneaking. He turned to his left and out-stretched his gun, waiting to see any figure appear. He didn't have to wait long.

A raider came around the corner with another 9mm, but in much worse condition. He was surprised to see Race staring at him with a gun pointed directly at his head. Race fired twice, one bullet going through the raiders eye and tearing out the back of his skull, and the other hitting his cheek and doing the same. He fell backwards and over a concrete-roadblock, his legs draped over it. Race heard one of the raiders curse in the distance.  
Soon after, silence crept into the warm air. Race took a breath and gripped the hand-gun tighter. No telling what they were planning now, but he was all too sure that he'd find out all too soon. They weren't crafty, but they were dangerous. Whatever it was wouldn't be elaborate or spectacular, but it would be deadly.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a sudden clang came from the hood of the car he was taking over behind. A rectangle shaped metal object bounced off and landed at his side. It didn't take him but a split second to recognize this as a grenade.  
Out of pure instinct he grabbed it, praying to whatever god would hear him, and threw it back over the car. He pressed to the ground and covered his head, just in-case they had cooked it so it would go off prematurely. But, as he had thought before, they were deadly but not smart.

The grenade skidded off the hood of another car behind the raiders, landing in the front seat. They didn't even have time to scream before it went off, exploding it and the car it landed in. Scrap metal and body parts went flying in all directions as a small orange and black mushroom cloud of smoke and fire rose into the air. The ground shook and Race gritted his teeth. The explosion was much closer then he would have liked.  
Avery looked over his shoulder as he ran, seeing the plume of smoke rise into the air. They were a distance away now, and hopefully he would be even further away by the time those raiders got done with race. If not, he knew how to fight, and how to hide.

Race pushed himself off the ground with a grunt, only managing to get on his hands and knees before a hand grabbed him and pulled him over. He rolled onto his back, but with the gun still in his hand and now pointed up, the raider never stood a chance. He fired once, hitting him in the ribs. That was before a figure came up from his side and grabbed the gun.

They fought for it, the raider yanking on it and causing Race's finger to slam against the trigger and misfire. Race began to turn the gun up towards the raider, who desperately fought back against it. But Race had the better grip and better angle in which to turn the gun. It was slow progress, but soon enough the gun was pointed at somewhere on the raider's chest. Race rapid fired the gun three times, nailing the raider in the throat twice and in the chest once.

Blood poured out of the tears in his throat and down his body, red soaking up the dirty grey tank-top he was wearing. He soon collapsed into a limp mound of dirty flesh that oozed blood. But this presented a new problem altogether. Race looked at his pistol and saw the receiver was pulled fully back, telling him he was out of ammo.

Suddenly the man he had shot on the ribs shouted and kicked, his foot connected with the gun and knocked it out of Race's unsuspecting hand. Race looked up in surprise and barely caught the glimmer of a Bowie knife in the setting sunlight.  
Race spun on the ground and kicked the raider's knee out of place, causing his leg to buckle and him to collapse to the ground, screaming in agony. Race kicked once more, jabbing the heel of his boot into the side of the man's arm. It barely did much besides hurt and knock him over a little bit, but it gave Race enough time to spin back around and get to his knees.

Once he was on one knee, the raider screamed and launched forward with the knife's blade angled downwards, ready to stab into Race's chest or neck. Race caught the mans arm with both of his hands, stopping the blade inched from his neck. The raider put his other hand on the pommel of the blade and pushed, driving the knife forward even more.

The sounds of struggle filled the air, both men growling as they pushed the knife towards and away. Race clinched his jaw and looked over at the dirty faced raider. His blonde hair was in a messy and short Mohawk, stained with sweat, dirt and possibly blood. The raider's eyes met his for a second, then glanced back at the knife. He growled louder as he tried to force the blade down more towards Race's neck.  
And it was working. The blade was moving more and more towards him. He had to think fast, think of something, anything, that could even the odds. He searched over his attackers body, seeing his possibly broken leg turned funny under him. Then he noticed the blood that was running down the side of the man's sweaty torso. The bullet wound form earlier.

Race put all of the strength he could into his left arm, trying his best to keep the knife at-least steady. His hand did have a hold of the attackers wrist, at-least, which meant better leverage. Race suddenly let go with his right hand and swung it as far back as he could, feeling the muscle's in his shoulder strain and the wound on his side pull, then threw it forward. His fist connected right with the bullet hole through the mans ribs.

He screamed in agony and arched to the left, his hand loosening just enough on the knife to where Race could pull it out of his attackers hand and use it for himself. He turned the blade around and lunged himself forward, throwing his weight onto the man and pinning him to the ground on his back.

The raider growled loudly, his hands gripping Race's wrists tightly and forcing them back as the knife drove further and further down towards his chest. _This has to end_ , Race thought to himself. He then swung his knee out and slammed it forward and into the man's ribs, causing him to howl in pain again.

The distraction of the pain caused his arms to weaken, as well as his vision to darken. The next thing he felt was a sharp pain driving into his neck, just above his collarbone. Warm blood flowed out from the open wound and around his neck. Any resistance he had against that knife was now gone, as he found himself having more and more trouble drawing in oxygen.  
Race put his hand on the pommel of the blade and pushed all of his weight down onto it with a loud grunt, sending the rest of the blade into the man's neck. Blood shot up like a geyser from the severed jugular, and droplets hit Race's face and the underside of the brim of his hit. He snarled as the warm blood ran down his face, then pressed the blade more to the right, effectively cutting through the rest of the jugular, tendons and mussel.

A choking and wheezing came from the raider as his body violently twitched under him, hands clawing at the gaping hole in his neck and throat. Race snarled again, anger boiling over inside of him. _"Just fuckin' die, already!"_ he screamed and pulled the knife out, holding the raiders right arm down with his left hand and jabbing the blade down into the man's chest.

Once, twice, three times, four, five, six times, seven times. He kept stabbing, screaming in frustration at the now dead man. Blood flew with each violent and quick stab into the man's chest. It splattered more and more on Race's face, hat and duster. He screamed one last time and slammed the knife down into the man's chest, his labored breathing apparent as he remained arched over the dead raider.

Blood ran wildly from severed jugular and the many holes in the dead man's chest. The crimson was pooling under him and filling all the tiny cracks in the faded grey pavement. He stared into the man's fully dilated green eyes, his heart still racing but breathing slowing. He could taste the coppery, salty taste of the man's blood as it ran down his face and onto his lips.

His hand let go of the knife's handle. His muscles were sore and stiff, hand still formed into the gripping claw that held the blade. He looked down to see his working-mans-hands were covered in the sticky, warm blood. It was everywhere. It was all over him.  
He stood up off the man with a groan, arms still bent and hands dripping with blood. He spat out the foreign blood in his mouth and stepped over the newly dead raider with he knife in his chest, and over to the one he had shot early. He grabbed the bottom of his grey tank-top and pulled it off the corpse, then began to viciously wipe the blood off his hands and face. It didn't provide him with much comfort, he still knew it covered his duster and armor and stained his skin. He'd need to wash it off.

But now was not the time. Race looked down the long expanse of clustered highway, seeing no sign of Avery. Only the sun setting behind the mountains. _"Goddammit."_ He cursed and reached down, picking his gun back up and exchanging the clip before holstering it.

This would be more complicated then he would have liked. More time consuming. And if Avery wasn't a danger to him, then the wastes that surrounded them both were, surely. Race gave chase to Avery, cursing the man and his life every day that passed. He followed the coward straight through the state, Arizona, New Mexico and into Texas. He'd heard some horror stories come out of this way, and didn't feel all to comfortable being here.

What he couldn't have known, was that they were all true. And among all of them, the scariest had been the tales that locals only whispered in fear. He's heard them in saloons as he made his way from small towns and big cities to even smaller towns. _"Ranger Grey walks in the darkness, ready to kill any and all who've done wrong."_

Race scoffed and sipped his drink every time. _'What a load of brahmin shit.'_ he thought to himself. If there was some man punishing people who'd done wrong, then he was a mighty busy man. And Texas would be a mighty empty state.  
But the further he traveled into the badlands, he heard more and more of it. No one seemed to know who this man was, but his stories were well known. They talked about him with a kind of reverence and fear. About him being the fastest gun they'd ever seen, or that he could hit his target dead center without even looking.

Race knew better, but there was something inside of him that grew weary of these stories. And the more he heard them, the more he dreaded the next. You'd swear this ranger was Satan himself, come to walk the land and have fun with us sinners. But there was a hesitation inside of him now. If this man were real, and if he were to run into him, he'd have no idea what he looked like.

He suddenly found himself in the position of all the men he'd ever hunted, and he didn't like it. But Race wasn't here for the real life Azrael. He was here for Judas. And a Judas he'd find. One way or another, he would find Avery Malcolm.

But with every damned story he overheard, he felt more and more desperate to just leave all of this behind. There were no such things as ghosts, and myth's about men as raw talented as this Ranger fellow were just myths.

There were no such things as avenging angels. Only devils, wearing men's clothing.


	11. Chapter 11 One cold night

The jail door slid closed with a clang and it seemed as if Avery already began pacing. Elias knew he wasn't comfortable with this plan, but it was the best one they could come up with. Avery rubbed the back of his neck and walked back to the cot that was against the wall. He turned back around and stared at Elias and Hendrix. "So," he stated un-enthused. "this is where I'm to die."

The sun had just set and it was ten past morning, the only noises outside were crickets and cicadas. The Jailhouse was empty and the lights were all off. They'd gone over this plan three times, but it only took Elias once to get it all. Put Avery in a cell, have the guards march off to a 'security issue' and leave the jailhouse unattended, then wait for Race to make his move. Avery didn't enjoy any part of it, not the being bate or the fact the man who had threatened his life earlier was now to save him.

"You're not gonna die." Elias assured, turning away and walking towards the back room where Allison was leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. "Well, at-least I don't think you well. Depends on how reckless and trigger-happy Race is."

Avery scoffed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're so _fuckin'_ comforting." he stated, bowing his head and taking in deep breaths to drown his nerves. Elias ignored it for the most part and seemed to dwell within his own sanctum. He was in a room full of people, with Carter sitting in a chair to his left, Hendrix behind him and Allison infront of him. Allison noticed he was keeping to himself, and trying to avoid most everyone.

"It's almost time." Carter said, rolling a silver coin across the tops of his fingers. "Don't worry, kiddo. Elias will probably keep you alive." Carter stood, tossing the coin up and catching it in his hand. He slid his hands into his pockets and groveled " _probably_ " as he walked over to the door.

Elias subtly paced, waiting for when the time was right. Hendrix was mumbling into the walkie-talkie in the corner of the room, talking to his second in command. Elias kept his eye on him, keeping an ear out for what he was saying. He was getting everything set up for the trap.

Allison's hand suddenly laid on Elias' shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her, seeing the mild concern in her face. It was a look he had seen more then a few times now. "You sure about this? Your putting yourself right in-front of a killer."

Elias softly smirked, dismissing her concern. "I've done it a million times before, and this time is no different."

She nodded but at the same time frowned softly. Elias knew it wasn't a comfortable thought for her, but it was the truth. How many bandits, raiders or generally bad people had gotten in his way over the years. He expected that, the more people told their tales of him, people would stop being foolish enough to challenge him. But it seemed like more and more kept coming.

The one good thing about the wasteland, there isn't a short supply of ammo to deal with those men.

Hendrix turned around and faced Elias and Allison, the walkie-talkie still in his hand. "We're all set. I got two of my guards out of uniform and dressed as civilians, they'll be stationed near by. Me and the rest of the guards are going to go turn the south wall into a shooting gallery. If Race is in town, he'll see this as his chance."

Carter turned his head and looked at Elias. "Sure you don't want me in here with you?"

Elias shook his head and held up a hand. "Thanks, but no thanks. Just take Allison back to her place and be with Sam, she needs you right now." Carter nodded at Elias's words, then turned back to the door.

Allison lightly squeezed Elias' arm, causing him to look at her once again. In a soft tone she spoke to him. "Please... _please_ be careful. I'll be watching from the camera feed, if you get shot..."

"I won't." Elias firmly, confidently, but yet compassionately interrupted her. He wasn't used to having people care about him like this, and wondered if her concern ran deeper then just not wishing to see him be harmed. But he had no time to think upon that now. He saw her give a small, unsure smile then let go of his arm and head for the door with Carter.

Carter turned the knob and they both exited with Hendrix as he gave the all clear on the radio. All three rushed out of the building, Hendrix drawing his rifle and storming ahead as Carter pulled his gun and grabbed Allison's arm, hurrying her up the hill and to her house. Elias could already hear the gunfire from the back of the city. If there was one thing this town did well, it was putting on one hell of a show.

Avery sighed and stood from his bunk in the cell, then begun pacing the metal floor. Elias turned off the last remaining light in the building, leaving only the light from the window across the room to shine in. But Elias was on the side of the room that was shrouded in total darkness.

He sat down on a chair and kicked one leg out, crossing his arms over his waist and beginning his wait. Avery looked over at his dark and barely noticeable silhouette. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

Elias chuckled once, almost mischievously. From there, he spoke in a low tone. "Used people as bait? Yeah, a few times. And a few of those times the bait didn't know he or she was even bait, so you're lucky."

Avery shook his head and laid it forward against the bars of his cell as he leaned on them. "Have any of your targets ever succeeded?"

Elias was quiet as he thought on this. He knew the answer, but didn't truly want to believe that he just knew it off the top of his head, as if he'd been thinking on it all day. "Twice, if I recall." He spoke low again. "One time I underestimated the killer, and the other my ward was a dipshit and didn't do as I told him."

Avery looked back over at Elias. "What about the underestimation?"

Elias shook his head and blinked slowly. "The killer was a Mercenary but I failed to give him the credit he deserved. He was a good tactician and knew where anyone my ward had hired would be held up. When he came for my employer, he threw a grenade beside the rock I was behind first. I barely made it out of the blast zone and got my wits knocked about. He had free roam over the employer and managed to shoot him in the gut before I shot him in the back of the head."

Elias paused on the thought, thinking about what came after that. He dropped the killer in one shot, but had to kill his employer as well. There is no cure for a bullet in the stomach, just a slow and painful death. "I never let that happen again."

Avery nodded then looked back at the front door. "And the other one? The dipshit?"

Elias scoffed and slumped down in his seat, getting more comfortable. "I told the idiot to stay in the house when they came for him. And when they did, he thought it was a genius fuckin' idea to come around back and shout profanity at them with a raised gun. You can guess the rest."

Avery wrinkled his brow and looked over at Elias. " _Seriously?_ " He asked with a tinge of amusement. One that was quickly dampened as he remembered that this was someone's life.

"Yeah," Elias stated in a hushed tone once more. "I started choosing who I helped more carefully after that one."

Avery gave a small and quiet laugh as he shook his head and stepped away from the bars. He took a seat then turned and laid on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off and foot pressed to the ground. "And have you ever been on the wrong side? The side that didn't help?"

Elias looked over at Avery who was contemplatively staring up at the metal ceiling. It was easy to forget this whole building was a make-shit shack. Even if it was somewhat well built. But the question Avery had asked was a peculiar one, and Elias answered the only way he could figure. "All the time. Consider it like I do, for every person I helped, it didn't help the other person. It may sound stupid, but there's a lot of regret in that."

Avery was silent for a moment, feeling the weight behind Elias' words. "Yeah," he somberly and quietly replied, listening to the gunfire in the distance. "I know that more then most people would believe."

Elias looked over at Avery, contemplating prying into the man's past. He definitely was a unique cat, everything about his past made Elias think that there maybe someone else out there who's been through what he's been through.

But within himself, he fought an eternal struggle. The side of him that had recently been kicked up like dust into the air. That side suddenly wanted him to hope. Maybe it would get better, maybe the pain would stop, it would all go away. But the majority of himself over-ruled. He knew better.

There was no one to help him. Nothing he could do would change a damned thing. And no one had lost as much as he did. And if there was, he honestly didn't care. He felt a tightness in his throat, choking him. He wanted to reach up and claw at it, tear out the wall that prevented him from breathing and swallowing.

But there was no wall. It was all some sick ploy of his body, a trick of his mind. It was that burning hot, but yet freezing cold, solid wall of bitter heart ache. He could feel it spread through his body like a cancer or poison. It affected every aspect of his humanity, of who he was.

When the room was hot, he was ice-cold. And when the room was ice-cold, a rage boiled inside of him that made him unfathomably hot. He choked back sudden outbursts of rage, but it couldn't stop him from having a near permanent snarl on his face when no one was talking to him. He had lived a hard and horrible life, but even he had never been so angry.

"It's a horrible thing." Avery stated, seemingly out of nowhere. But he had been thinking it since his last few words. "Being helpless. Feeling...helpless. It's something that'll shake even a man with the will of iron to his very core."

Elias slowly looked over at him and inhaled deeply, groveling out his words. _"What would you know about it?"_ It was a rough and truly blunt question, but Elias was never a man of pleasantries.

Avery turned his head slightly, trying to look at Elias behind him. He found he couldn't, so just stopped. Wouldn't be any use in looking at him anyhow. Elias had unbelievably cold eyes, the kind you get from being jaded to horrible things, and having to do horrible things yourself. "Oh, I know plenty."

He turned on his side with a groan, facing the door now. That feeling of eager anticipation and fear clung to his very bones. "I lived a long time as a hired gun, and even when I joined onto a company it didn't help with that feeling. That feeling of being pinned down...bullets tearing into your cover. Bullets that you don't have, in any of your guns. That feeling...you accept death in that moment. You know you're going to die, there's nothing you or god can do about that. So you take your last breath...and when you breathe your next one, it surprises you."

Avery's words were tearing into Elias, leaving him in a absent minded state of thinking back on past occurrences. His heart beat faster and faster, staring off into space and feeling cold and desolate once again. Avery continued, his voice resonating through Elias like sonic vibrations, feeling every word and hearing it echo in his mind.

"But every breath after that one is different. It's like a different man breathing through you. You're never the same once you've accepted death." He sighed out the last of the air in his lungs.

Elias managed to tear himself out of his state and slink further down on the chair, crossing his arms and turning the screen off on his pip-boy. Now he sat in total darkness, with nothing but the distant sound of gunfire and crickets filling the silence. There was nothing Elias could say to himself, or Avery, to help either one of them. Elias was lost, and with his heart newly beating, he was lost and distraught.

Race looked off in the distance of the gunfire. Standing in the empty dirt street and doing so made him feel and look like a stranger. He reached up and took the tooth-pick out his mouth, tossing it to the ground and continuing for the barracks.

It was a medium sized building made out of scraps of metal. From what he had heard, the guards usually occupied it, and so did a few jail-cells. They had hauled in a man this morning for the killing of the fellow in the bar, Joe. Race knew this was his man. It had to be, there was no one else it could be. And since every guard in the town was off shooting at raiders on the south wall, now was the perfect time.

As he got closer to the building, he paid more attention to the dark in the windows. He could see that there was no one inside, atleast not guard wise. He had the distinct feeling that what he was looking for was in that building. It was time to kill his mouse, get the caps, and leave this pisshole town and state.

He walked up a few wooden beams that were half buried in the ground, acting like steps. The closer he got to that metal door, the more he felt that old familiar feeling in his gut. Excitement, perhaps. This nightmare was over, and soon he'd be living in a nice suite with his soon-to-be-wife.

He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, slowly pulling the door open. A gust of cool air flowed into the room with the opening of the door, and Avery lifted his head off his arm and opened his eyes. In the doorway, stood the dark outline of a man in a long duster. He sprung up from the bed, desperation radiating off of him. _"GUARDS! GUARDS!"_ he shouted, equally as desperate.

"They can't hear you, Avery." Race said, taking his first step into the room. Avery could now see the finer details of his face. He was young, had a dark rough beard and short, light brown hair. Even though he was young, you could tell he was a protege`. A freak of his own kind. "No one can hear you."

Avery looked around desperately, gabbing the mattress off the bed and backing into the corner of the cell with it, using it as some sort of poor shield. Race chuckled with a smile, his hand resting on the grip of his 9mm. He knew he could shoot right through that mattress. _"I didn't steal your bloody caps, you fuckin' lunatic!"_ Avery shouted from behind the mattress.

"At this point?" Race asked, scoffing at the end as he walked further into the room. "I don't fuckin' care. You've dragged me a million miles from nowhere, away from my fiance`, and caused me more trouble then this job was worth. If you don't have the caps, I'll take it out of your blood."

Suddenly, just as he ran his fingers over his gun, Race got a sinking and sick feeling in his gut. The excitement died out quickly, and the room felt colder. The clouds moved out from the front of the moon, casting a pale blue light through the windows and illuminating the room. He slowly turned his head to the left, and saw a tall and dark figure standing near the wall. "Who the hell are you?" Race asked, squinting to see the figure better.

Elias didn't answer, just kept staring at Race. He now knew his kind. A kind he had dealt with for years. The kind of men who don't care about morality or what the parameters of their job are. They want blood. But it was their blood that they cupped in their hands, as it spilled out of them. It was always their blood. Avery turned to Elias, his hand still resting on his gun. "You deaf?"

Elias still didn't answer. Race tuned in his senses, wanting to know this man was just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he didn't feel that sense of urgency he felt from any of the others. He felt a unnatural calm, and coldness. He didn't like it. "You know what?" He asked. "I don't fuckin' care who you are. Just get the hell out of here, and count yourself lucky I feel merciful."

He began to turn back to Avery when a deep rumbling voice called out from the man. "No." he stopped and looked back at Elias, who was now snarling at him. "Here's what's gonna happen..." His words were as calm and cold as his demeanor, his eyes unblinking and fixed with an intense gaze on Race. It made him uneasy. "You're gonna draw. I'm gonna kill you. And that's that."

Race scoffed, smiling as well, then shook his head, turning straight towards Elias. "Old man, do you have any idea who the fuck I am?" he asked, a sure-fire confidence in his voice.

"No." Elias answered again, this time quicker. "And I don't care. The fact I don't know you, just means you're gonna die quicker."

Race wanted to call the old man cocky, but that calmness told him that he wasn't being cocky. He was telling the truth. "I'm the fastest draw in New Vegas. I've killed more men then I can count, and I'll still be be when I'm twice your age!"

"Kid, you're not in New Vegas anymore. You're in Texas. _Now...draw...your...fucking...gun."_

Race snarled and looked into man's eyes, wanting to feed off the fear that he knew had to be there. But when he looked into them, all he found was darkness. Cold and barren of any emotion. No fear, or worry. Only a cold stillness. And inside, he knew. He knew this was the fight he never wanted.

There was a eerie pause that seemed to linger in the night's chilled air for a infinity. It seemed as if everyone's breathing had stopped. Elias's heart was steady, his hand resting on the leather holster strapped to his hip. While Race's heart was in his throat, beating like humming-bird wings. His hand rested on the black Kevlar holster, ready to pull at any time.

They stared into each-other's eyes. Elias took a long a long and deep breath. Then, in a flash, they both pulled. The 9mm barrel is shorter then the .357's, less distance the travel out of the holster.

Race had pulled that pistol half-way out, before a bullet hit him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards onto a flimsy wooden table and against the tin wall. The table broke and he slid down the wall, blood streaking down it behind him, and the moonlight shinning through a new hole. Elias' gunsmoke was visable in the light.

There was silence once more, and Avery couldn't believe what he had seen. Elias twirled the revolver once as he holstered it. He pulled his trench-coat over the gun and walked forward, spurs clanging against the floor along with the sound of his heavy boots.

Avery pushed the mattress over onto the ground, seeing Race propped up against the wall, his chin touching his chest and blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. Avery looked down to the holster, and found that his gun hadn't even been fully drawn. They both had drawn at the same time, but Elias drew ten times faster. At the very least.

Elias looked down at Race, as silent as ever. He then reached into his pocket, puling out the keys to the jail-cell and walking over to Avery. Elias grabbed one of the bars and inserted the key, twisting then sliding the door open, only to look back at a dead Race. "Well..." Elias mumbled in a low tone as they both stared at him. "That was anti-climatic."

Avery slowly looked over at Elias, hearing the true disappoint in his voice. "A-Anti-climatic?" he asked in near shock.

Elias nodded then looked over at him, shrugging lightly. "Kinda hoped my first showdown since my return would have been more memorable."

Avery huffed out a breath, staring down at the blood beginning to pool around Race. He couldn't take his eyes off it, couldn't stop repeating the scene of Elias' unnaturally quick drawing of his gun. It played over and over again in his mind, but he still couldn't believe it.

"So..." Avery mumbled and looked at Elias. "What do with him?"

Elias stared down at the young, dead boy. His teeth were gritting as he thought to himself; that kid actually thought he was going to win. He looked over at Avery and inhaled deeply. "Bury him out back with the rest."

Elias moved out of Avery's way and took his hat off, running his fingers through his black and grey hair, pushing it back then putting his hat back on. Avery's sigh was shaky but he managed it, wrinkling his brow and nodding his head. "I'll get the shovels."

Carter leaned forward, one hand on the back of Allison's chair and the other on the desk as his eyes narrowed on the screen of the console. Hendrix, Vic, Samantha, and the Doc also stood around. There was a brief pause, then a sudden flash and pop that made everyone jump. _"Jesus Christ..."_ Carter mumbled in disbelief.

Allison rewound the footage, slowing it down even. Elias's draw was so unnaturally fast that, even slowed down, it looked as if he drew at an average speed. Carter shook his head, taking a step back and staring in disbelief as Alison hit pause. "Kid never stood a chance." The doc said with his arms crossed.

Hendrix smirked and shook his head, reaching back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Incredible." he simply mumbled.

"No, I've seen some incredible shit in my life..." Samantha stated, staring down at Elias' frozen picture of his arm extended out with the gun still pointed down at Race. "But that's not incredible. Incredible was seeing one of my girls service twenty guys in an hour. That right there is fuckin' unnatural."

The doc leaned forward and tapped the pipboy on Elias's arm. "You think it's the pip-boy? Helps him draw faster or aim more accurately?"

"Has to be." Hendrix said as if stating a fact. "There's no other explanation. _Nobody's_ that good. _Nobody._ "

"Or," Elias voice spoke up loudly from the doorway of Allison's kitchen. They all looked up at him, seeing he wasn't in his normal clothes. Instead he just wore a dark T-shirt and jeans, his hands in his pockets with his thumbs on the outsides. "You realize that I've been doing this fifty years and have had more training then a NCR ranger and a Brotherhood paladin combined."

Allison looked to her left at the doc, then to her right at Carter who looked back down at her. She nodded and stood up, staring into Elias' eyes and seeing they were more relaxed and accepting then they had been since he arrived. "Walk with me." She said. "I got a proposition for you."

The gravel crunched under their boots, and Allison kept looking over at Elias, noting how different he looked without his normal gear on. "Dry-cleaners." he suddenly said, noticing she was looking at him for the fifth time. He looked over and down at her, into her sapphire eyes. "The clothes, they're at the dry-cleaners."

"Makes sense." She chuckled, bowing her head with a smile and reaching up to tuck her bang behind her ear. But Elias' hand suddenly caught her wrist. She looked up at him and he glanced down and over at her. "Leave it." he said. "You look good the way you are."

She suddenly felt her cheeks grow warm with blush, and Elias managed a small smile as he noticed it from the corner of his eye. She looked away, listening to kids play off in the distance. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and any signs of the horrors of yesterday were seemingly long gone. "I want you to stay." She suddenly said, catching Elias's attention.

He looked over and down at her, wrinkling his brow lightly as his heart began to race. She looked up at him and grabbed his arm, stopping them both in the middle of the road, turning towards one another. "I-I mean _we_ , _we_ want you...to stay. I know you had plans to leave when your debt was payed, but...we need you."

Elias looked into her eyes, seeing the truth in her plea. He sighed and looked over towards the foreboding metal gate. "I dunno if I can." he mumbled, his heart suddenly racing more. He didn't exactly know why, but all he could think was of a familiar feeling from years ago. That he just told a lie.

She looked towards the gate, then back up at him and gripped his arm. "Then-" He looked back down at her, his gaze halting her in mid-sentence. She swallowed hard, forcing down any fears or hesitation. "Then what if I said that _I_ wanted you to stay...that _I_ need you."

Elias felt his heart abruptly stop then start back up again, skipping a beat. He inhaled and shook his head, trying to back away. "You don't need a man like me in your life. You don't need _me_ in your life, trust me."

She gripped his arm more and pulled him back towards her, his eyes catching hers. He wanted to be angry for being stopped, but he couldn't. All he could feel was his heart, thundering out of his chest. "There's a lot of shit I don't need in my life, Elias. But you're not one of them. You're someone who can help things, who can deal with the shit in this town that myself and Carter can't."

He stared down at her for a minuet, then looked away and gave a long winded sigh, wondering if it was actually possible for him to settle down here. For him to set up shop and become the town Peacekeeper. The Sheriff. "I know you've been through a lot, and I won't pry." she said shaking her head. "But...I need you here, Elias. I need you to help me...I _want_ you to help me."

He looked over at her, feeling her hand slide down his arm until her hand crossed over his. He had the sudden instinctual urge to grip her hand, and so he did. He could see her breathing get faster as she stared up at him. _"Please."_ she said so softly it could barely have been considered a whisper.

Elias felt something inside him shift, and any desperation was suddenly snuffed out. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and lightly nodded his head. A sudden tingle of butterflies erupted in Allison's stomach, and a smile spread across her lips. He opened his eyes and gave a definite nod. "Alright. Okay, I'll do it." He paused, staring off into space for a moment. "For you...Not for them. You told me to find something worth fighting for, so...I'll do this for you. Not them."

Hearing him say this made her happy beyond words, and her smile grew even wider. Elias turned his head, a worried look in his eyes, but Allison didn't pay attention to it. She leaned up and slid her arms across his shoulders and around his neck, pulling herself tight against him.

Once again his heart stopped and he froze, feeling her warm body pressed tightly against him. Her firm chest pressed against his. He enjoyed the feeling, and softly slid his arms around her waist, his eyes closing and embracing her tightly. The warmth that flowed between them was calming, and enticing. They embraced, perhaps, for longer then they should have. Neither one of them willing to admit they didn't want the feeling to end. But like all good things, it did.

Allison slid her hand down Elias' arm, sending a riveting feeling of pins and needles up his arm. "I-I'm gonna go tell the others the good news..." she said in a tone that suggested that she didn't want to leave him to do so. Elias simply smirked and nodded. She smiled in return and hesitantly turned away, going back towards her house with a growing smile.

Elias watched her walk away, then closed his eyes and bowed his head, letting out a breathy sigh. _"What have you done...?"_ he thought to himself, reaching up and punching the bridge of his nose and wrinkled his brow. _"Why did you go and promise her that? Why would you let her continue to think things about you?"_

He shook away the voice and attempted to reason it away, thinking to himself that it was time to stop running. It had gotten him nowhere but unhealthy and even more broken _. "What about when she finds out who you really are? Do you plan on keepin' your past a secret forever? And what about when start thinking more and more about what's done and gone, what then?"_

Anger swept over him like a dust-storm, causing his body to grow warmer on the inside. 'Shut up' he mumbled to himself, clinching his fist tightly. 'Just shut your goddamned mouth...'

Elias suddenly heard the distinct sound of boots crunching behind him, and he opened his eyes. "Elias?" Avery's voice called out from behind him. Elias raised his head and turned around, seeing Avery standing before him with an inquisitive look. "You okay?"

Elias looked him in the eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah," he gruffly replied, still feeling the warmth of anger inside of him, in his beating heart. "yeah I'm fine. I thought you left town, what are you still doing here?"

Avery reached up, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around. "I was gonna head-out, but...I dunno, I think I'll stick around a while longer. See about paying off my debt to you and the town. Plus...It's not to bad here. Maybe I need a break from my little _journey."_

Elias nodded his head and huffed out a breath. "Well, whatever you do, best of luck to you." He began to turn away when something abruptly stopped him. He turned his head and looked back at Avery. "Hey, you...said earlier about knowing what it was like. To feel helpless. How did you deal with it?"

Avery frowned softly and quickly glanced away before looking back into Elias' coal colored eyes. "I didn't...Elias. I didn't deal with it. I threw myself into it, too willing to accept it, too willing to accept death. When I didn't die, I couldn't stop feeling it. Couldn't stop feeling like I was falling deeper and deeper into darkness."

Elias' heart was once again in his throat, choking him and making it hard for him to breath or speak. "Sounds...familiar. Do you still feel like you're falling?"

Avery stared back then managed a smile, and a huff of a singular chuckle. He let the smile fade and closed his eyes, nodding his head slowly. When he opened his eyes, he found a disappointed look in Elias', as they drifted away from him. "And I will continue to fall, until I find something or someone that can catch me and make me feel whole again."

Elias looked back at Avery, but not directly at him. "Is that what your _'journey'_ is all about?"

Avery paused for a moment, letting the question gather weight. He knew the answer, but honestly had never truly thought about it that way. "Yeah, I suppose it is. Maybe I'll find it here, maybe I won't. But I'm not gonna find it if I don't let myself live to see tomorrow."

Living to see tomorrow was something Elias had dreaded for years now. He'd become disgusted by it. Truly and completely disgusted. He couldn't remember the last time he woke up without that feeling. But now, he'd be waking up in the same spot for...god knows how long. Until he couldn't take it anymore? When would that be, if that feeling would ever come?

More questions, and not enough answers. He nodded his head to Avery and turned away, walking back towards Allison's house. He felt very tired, and very old. Like he was being weighed down by an anvil on his back. The hot sun was beating down on him, but yet he felt chilled to his very bones. He needed sleep, and didn't reckon anyone would mind if he napped away some of the day.

Avery watched Elias walk away, then noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It was a man pulling a wagon with a coffin on it, up to the graveyard where another man was finishing digging the hole. Avery knew what happened. But to the rest of the town, Elias' actions would be a myth. And it all began, one cold night.


	12. Chapter 12 Our evil ways

Morning dew clung to the ground as the orange sun rose in the distance. The morning was cool, but it wasn't surprising for it being in the latter end of the year. November, is what the pip-boy told him.

Elias rubbed the sleep from his eyes, giving a large yawn afterwords. He looked over to see Jenny laying on her side, her back facing him. Her dark brown hair was sprawled out across the pillow her head laid on. He looked forward at the bedroom door, seeing the desk he had slid in-front of it before relaxing last night. Just a counter measure in-case anything smart enough to try a door came through.

He got around, putting his shirt back on and buttoning the black over-shirt over it. He was in the process of putting on his boots when Jenny woke up with a deep breath, turning her head and letting her eyes adjust to see Elias sitting on the desk. He looked over at her and put his one booted foot to the ground. "What time is it?" she quietly asked.

Elias raised his wrist and looked at the pip-boy, then lowered it and looked back to her. "Seven thirty. We gotta get around soon if we intend to get to the canyon before noon." He grabbed up his other black boot and slid his foot into it, sliding it on and sliding his leather pant-leg down over it. He had taken to wearing a lighter version of leather-armor over his normal clothes.

Jenny sighed and rolled over then leaned forward, sitting up on her sleeping-bag. She adjusted the loose T-shirt that was much too big for her, and stretched out her arms. Elias stood up and grabbed the brush-rifle off the side of the wall near his sleeping-bag. "I'll give your privacy." he said just before pushing the desk out of the way of the door.

She watched him leave, gently closing the door behind him, then stood up. It was always good when she was able to sleep in a more comfortable state. When they were behind a locked door, usually. It was getting colder lately, but she found it refreshing. And nothing would stop her from taking advantage of being comfortable.

She reached behind her and grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling it up and off her sixteen year old body. A body which was in the late-beginning or mid state of filling out and developing curves. She was starting to develop a waist, and her breasts had filled out into a small B -cup. She pulled her long, straight hair back across her bare back. With that over sized shirt off, she was left with only her cotton panties on.

She reached into her bag and put on a sports-bra, then slid on a pair of comfortable jeans and a grimy but intact red-flannel shirt. She buttoned it up, all but the two at the top, then strapped on her gun-belt. The 10mm pistol was still holstered in it from last night. She then put on her brown steel-toed boots, lacing them up. She topped it all off with a thick, wool lined denim jacket which suited her well. This was her normal-ware, and it suited her well.

"Done!" She called out to Elias, already beginning to roll up her bed-roll. Elias opened the door and walked in, leaning the rifle against the wall and walking over to his bed, doing the same to his bed-roll. Jenny packed hers, along with her pillow, into her back-pack. And Elias put his into a newly acquired army duffle bag.

He grabbed his thick leather trench-coat and put it on, buttoning it up then putting the strap of the duffle around his neck, and grabbing back up the brush-rifle. Jenny put on her back-pack then grabbed the Marksman-carbine off the floor next to where she was laying. She put the strap around her neck and under the underside of her opposite arm. She looked at Elias and nodded, then they both left the room and the burnt out house they had slept in.

The ground was stiff with frost, and you could faintly see your breath in the pale morning light. Jenny cradled her carbine as they trekked up a hill, Elias occasionally glancing back to see if she was alright. She always appreciated the concern, but also always felt it was unnecessary.

It had been three years since he saved her. He'd taken her under his wing, put a gun in her hand, and taught her the most important thing you could possibly know in the wastes. How to survive. It was a dangerous world, and Elias knew that better then anyone else. This wasn't a world you got by in, you didn't merely exist. You fought, every day, to assure your survival.

She'd followed him across the desert and through towns. Together they'd seen a large portion of Texas and everything surrounding it. They'd helped people in need. From finding lost family members, to helping fighting off bandits or other creatures. They'd become a inseparable duo together, and Jenny knew it. She knew that with Elias trusting in her, believing in her, that they'd be inseparable for as long as they both drew a breath. She didn't have any family left, but Elias was as much of a father as her real one.

They got to the top of the hill, Elias reaching it before her and stopping to stare off in the distance. She climbed up to his side, and was witness to a beautiful sight. A valley bellow them, with the dirt road they were seeking winding through it like a snake. The sun was rising over it, but clouds were also rolling in, keeping the air cool and the ground frozen.

She looked over at Elias, who squinted and stared down at the road. Once he was done analyzing the situation, he turned his head and looked at her, giving a smirk and a huff. His breath was visible in the air. She smiled back, pushing into his side in a congratulatory _'we did it'_ manner.

Her head only came up to Elias's shoulder, and he often joked around by calling her small fry or shorty, saying in all seriousness that she'd probably never grow any taller, then trying his hardest not to smile. She always giggled and pushed him or punched his arm with a smirk and a shake of her head.

His elbow hit her arm, causing her to look at him. He nudged his head down to the road and spoke up. "Look down there with your scope, tell me what you see." As she did so, he took a seat on a nearby rock. She moved the rifle down the road until finally stopping and getting down on one knee.

Elias' brow flattened. He hadn't expected her to find anything. "What is it?" he whispered to her, not taking his eyes off the road where she was looking.

"People." She quickly and quietly replied. "Six or seven, gathered around and in a small cave in the side of the valley. It's near the road."

Elias nodded and grabbed his rifle up off the rock, then stood. "Then that's them." He proclaimed as he stared down at her. "So, how do ya wanna do this?"

She lowered her rifle and looked up at him, into his deep dark brown eyes. They held a youth and a warmth in them that betrayed his demeanor and one or two grey hairs. She'd seen those eyes turn a cold and bitter black before, though. During fights when he let himself lose control. More recently a bar-fight, when some drunken asshole tried hitting on her. Elias hadn't said a word, he just jumped up and beat the man so bad he was unrecognizable.

"I doubt there's another way into a cave." She said, causing him to shrug and nod at the same time. "I could position myself on the edge of the valley, I'll have a clear shot down at them. But that'll only work until they run into the cave."

"Maybe." he replied, looking down at the road. "I could always...refine my acting skills." He smirked as he looked down at her. She had hesitation written across her face, and even gave a nervous chuckle, shaking her head and looking back down at the road. "You set up on the valley and I'll come in from the road, pretend to be a traveler. When they come out of their little coward hole, we'll clear them out. Simple stuff, ya know?"

She scoffed and stood up, gripping her rifle. "There's nothing simple about you getting shot at, dad."

He smirked, then laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked back at him, seeing that look in his eyes. He was asking her to trust him. He'd given her that look so many times, she found herself shocked she hadn't built up an immunity to it. _"Fine."_ She sighed, gripping her rifle tighter and beginning her march down the hill towards the edge of the valley. Elias grabbed up his brush-rifle and also started his descent, but much farther to the right of Jenny.

Elias took his bag off, laying it beside a large rock near the entrance of the valley. He didn't need the extra weight slowing him down. He took a few deep breathes, putting on his best poker face and thinking about what he'd say. He just needed them distracted enough so that she could line up and take a shot.

He unbuttoned his leather trench-coat, giving him access to the silver .357's on his hips. The coat covered them just enough to where you couldn't exactly see them, but Elias could easily reach them. After preparing, he rounded the corner and began walking into the valley. The shadow's of which rolled over him and everything else within it, making it feel even colder. What a horrible place to die.

These bandits had been killing and stealing from those who went through the valley for weeks. Elias and Jenny had been contracted by a town to route them out and deal with the threat. They'd tracked to the outskirts of a small, deserted community, and rested there. But now they had their target's in sight, and nothing was going to stop them from delivering justice. And easing the minds of the locals.

The ground crunched under Elias' boots as he marched forward, acting as inconspicuous as possible. The further he got into the valley, the more anxious he got. He was ready for the ambush, for yelling and then gunfire. It would happen any minuet now.

And right on Que, as soon as he reached a large bolder near the side of the road, a man in leather armor came out of a small cave with his .10mm pistol raised. A slew of others followed him, all in different clothing and carrying different weapons. Elias put his hands up and acted surprised by their 'sudden' appearance. But deep inside, he was trying not to smile.

"Bad day to be out and traveling, mister." The man in leather said, causing a few of the others to chuckle.

"Easy now!" Elias said, still trying his best to be surprised and tense. "Easy...I-I don't want any trouble, I'm just trying to get my brothers house."

"Well," the man in leather stepped forward, raising the gun and aiming it at Elias' head. "If you don't hand over every fuckin' thing you got on your person, your brother won't even be seeing your corpse. I'll drop you right here and leave you for the buzzards."

Elias swallowed hard, glancing at the other shifty gang members behind him. "Okay...Okay, I got around two hundred caps in a small pouch in my pocket...I'm going to get it. Please, don't shoot."

"Hurry up." The man demanded, smiling as Elias' hand slowly went down. "Can't tell you how many poor fuckers I've killed right where you're standing. Nice to know there's still some waster's with some brain between their ears."

"Yeah?" Elias asked, keeping his eye on the man as his hand reached his pocket. The leader chuckled and quickly glanced back to his men. "Damn shame you're not one of them." His hand quickly slid under his coat and pulled the revolver, catching the leader off guard. His head turned back around and smile quickly faded as he realized the situation. He fired the 10mm first, but the bullet flew right past Elias' head.

But when Elias fired, his bullet didn't miss the leader's head. The men behind him got showered in blood and brain as they watched their leader fall to the ground in a plume of dust.

Jenny fired a three shot burst into the torso of one of the lackey's, catching them off guard and startling them. She moved the gun to the left then did the same, hitting and killing another man with a quick heart-shot. The four that were left were in a panic, watching their friends fall around them.

Elias pulled his other gun and fired them both, one at a time but in rapid succession. Jenny pressed in the trigger and held it down, raining automatic hell down on the last four. With the hail of gunfire coming from two directions, the other's were quickly filled with holes and brought to the ground.

They all fell, and the gunfire ceased from both Elias and Jenny. A man let out a pained, crying scream. Jenny pointed the gun at the man who had bullet holes through the back of his leather jacket. He sobbed in pain as he tried to drag himself forward. She pulled the trigger, but the gun simply dry-fired. _"Shit."_ she mumbled and began changing the clip. "I'm out!"

Elias looked up at her, then walked forward. He stepped on the chest of the leader and walked over him. He holstered his left revolver then pulled the hammer back on the right one, walking up to the killing grounds where the bodies laid strewn about.

The dirt was already getting wet with blood, and the man that was crawling back into the cave was trailing it through he dirt in a long streak. He was bleeding out and in immeasurable pain, crying and screaming as he pulled himself forward.

Elias put this boot on the man's back, pushing him down into the ground and stopping him. The man let out another scream, this one sounded more desperate then anything else. His hand reached out for the cave as his scream turned into a sob. Elias pointed the gun down at the back of the man's head, and didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. His head slammed into the ground with a plume of dust, and his body twitched as blood quickly pooled around it.

Jenny exhaled loudly, staring down at the man Elias still had his boot on the back of. He was staring down at him, a wrinkle in his brow. She couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, but it didn't seem to be anger. Perhaps it was bewilderment? Suddenly from inside the cave she saw movement. Nothing more then a dark figure dashing, but she knew it was a silhouette. _"Elias!"_ she shouted.

Elias looked up into the cave, his eyes adjusting and gaze catching that of a woman with dark hair. Her eyes wee hazel, and skin well tanned. She wore a night-gown, and was trembling with fear. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she stared teary eyed at Elias.

Elias' eyes grew sympathetic, as he realized this was what the man was reaching out for. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, even if he was a bandit. Even if this could have been a whore or a chem-addict. She just stood there, staring at him in pure terror. And Elias just stood at the entrance of the cave, staring at her with a slack jaw and a look of sympathy.

Suddenly she reached over and grabbed a .32 caliber revolver off the table next to her. Elias hadn't even noticed the table and chairs set up, probably robbed from a caravan that traveled through. Elias raised his gun and pointed it at her, causing her to freeze once more. The gun looked weighty in her hands, and it shook violently with her.

The more Elias looked at this woman, the more his heart raced. And the more it raced, the more it sunk further. What he had done was nothing more then murder to her. It would never be anything other then murder. His arm bent, and the gun lowered slowly. _"Don't..."_ he said, nearly begging her.

She held the gun with both hands, and tried to still it from shaking. She let out a sob, tears streaming down her cheeks as her vision became hazy. _"Please, don't..."_ Elias said again putting his other hand up in a motion that told her to stop. _"Just put the gun down...and I walk away. Don't make me do this, please..."_

She sobbed again, her knees buckling slightly. She looked at Elias through her hazy eyes, fear giving way to border-line depression. Seeing her husband dead on the ground next to Elias made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to throw up, to scream and cry until her eyes bled. He was everything to her. He was her hope, her heart, her love and joy and passion. He was everything, and without him, she was nothing. Without him she was alone, in a world that hated her. In a cruel world that hated everyone. There was nothing left for her. There was no hope. The sinking, sick feeling she felt in her chest now would remain until the day she died. He was the only one that took that feeling away, and now he too was gone. There was nothing left.

"Please, just..." Elias started to say one more time, his breathing fast and his voice breathy and desperate. Suddenly her hands raised quickly, and Elias raised his gun as well, preparing to move to the side and shout again. Instead her hands kept raising, until the barrel was tucked under her chin. "Wait, _wait, NO!"_ Elias quickly shouted, only for the gunshot to drown out his final word.

The flash illuminated the cave. Illuminated the fragments of brain and tissue that flew out of the top of her head. Elias stumbled backwards, his heartbeat disappearing in a wave of dread. Her body fell back onto a green leather chair, gun falling out of her hand and leg twitching against the ground.

Elias let out a shaken breath, and looked away. His jaw was sill slack and his eyes were wide. Breathing heavier then ever. _"Elias!?"_ Jenny shouted as she ran down the road of the valley. But her voice was muffled by the gunshot that still rang in Elias' mind.

His lower lip quivered, and stomach turned as he felt as if he was going to be sick. He quickly holstered his gun and pressed both hands to his face, placing them over his nose and covering his mouth. He closed his eyes tight and let out a deep breath that quickly turned in a near sob.

He slid his hands up his face, knocking his cowboy hat off. He reached up and gripped it, yanking it off his head and gripping it tight in his hand as he crouched down, his other hand covering his mouth as tears formed in his eyes. There was nothing he could think or do to get that image out of his head, or escape that feeling boiling inside his stomach.

But he could hear Jenny's running footsteps as they got closer. _"Elias!"_ she called out to him again, nearing the entrance to the cave. He pointed at the entrance with his hand that gripped the hat. "No!" He shouted in desperation. "No, don't come in here! I'm fine, just...just stay out of here!"

"What are you talking-."

"Jenny, _stop!_ " he shouted again, finding his hand shaking. "Just...just please. Please stay out there. And give me a second. I'll be right there."

Jenny was compliant, even if she was curious as to what had happened. She laid down Elias' duffle bag beside her, and gripped her own rifle, waiting nervously. Elias wiped the tears from his eyes and let out a shaky breath, choking down any feelings as best as he could. He still wanted the throw up, but knew he had to get Jenny away from this.

He stood up and exhaled loudly, putting his hat back on and adjusting it correctly. He pulled his coat over his guns and walked out of the cave, into the cold and cloudy world awaiting him outside.

Jenny looked at him as he exited the cave, a disturbed look in his now much colder eyes. He wouldn't look at her. And the determination in his steps made her uneasy. "Dad? What happened?" She asked cautiously, side-stepping then walking forward with him. He grabbed his bag off the ground, and held his rifle close. "Elias?" Jenny asked again, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He looked over at her in a quick glance, then kept his eyes straight. "Nothing." he quickly and dismissively replied, causing her wrinkle her brow and frown lightly. She didn't believe it for one second, and the fact that the man who had been more open with her then anyone else wouldn't tell her something, meant that whatever it was had to have been bad.

Elias looked at her, letting out a shaky sight then reaching out and patting her back. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'm fine. Just...a little shaken."

She nodded gently, keeping her eyes on him but her path a steady stroll forward. She knew she had to drop it, at-least for now. Whatever it was had disturbed Elias, and that wasn't a good sign. She hoped it wouldn't affect him for long. She didn't like seeing him in any other way then as himself. But for now, she knew it was going to be a long and quiet walk back to the town. And even though the air was cold around them, Elias seemed to be the coldest of the two. He trembled the whole way back.

 _"Don't make me do this...please..."_ the words resonated in him, stirring something in his chest and stomach as they echoed in his mind. Like a foreign voice, shouting at a distance. He could feel that cold again. And feel the sinking pit in his stomach. "Wait, _wait, NO!"_

When he heard the gunshot, Elias jolted up in the bed with a series of gasps. His body was covered in cold sweat, and his hands were gripping the damp sheets. His heart raced inside his chest, eyes darting around the dim room. He was in Prosperous Springs. It had all been a flash-back of a life he never wished to remember.

He still felt the cold of the air on that day, kissing at his damp skin. And he couldn't shake the sick feeling in his gut. He tore the sheets off his semi-naked body and rushed into the bathroom, falling to his knees and clinching the toilet-bowel as he heaved and retched into it. Just like he had done the night it happened. Jenny had hoped whatever he saw wouldn't affect him for long. But here he was, eight years later, still throwing up over it.

There was a quick knock at the door. "Elias?" Allison asked from outside the door. "It sounded like you fell, are you okay?"

He gripped the bowel and spat into it, a disgusted look on his face from the taste. He looked over into the bedroom, hands shaking against the bowel and eyes teary. He couldn't tell if it was from retching or if he was actually teary eyed over the flashback. "I'm fine." he said, failing to sound anything remotely close to fine. "Just give me a minuet."

There was silence from the door, and he turned back to the bowel, unsure if he was going to throw-up again or not. After a few minuets of nothingness, he let go of his vice like grip and leaned back against the wall, sitting on the ground with his legs sprawled out and arms at his side.

 _"I never told you..."_ he muttered to himself as he lie there. _"I never told you what happened in that cave. You were afraid of it affecting me, but I was afraid of it changing you. I wore that guilt for the both of us, so you wouldn't have to. Her blood...it stians my hands, not yours. If you had known, if it made you felt like you had killed her...then I had failed. I'd failed you as a mentor, as a companion. As a father."_

He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wall, his breathing finally calming down from what it was. _"And if you found out, and it didn't change you. If you felt nothing. Then I'd have failed all the same. But you never found out. You never asked. You just kept caring for me and thinking maybe I wouldn't be affected by it for too much longer. And now here I am..."_ he turned his head and opened his eyes, staring into the empty bedroom and seeing nothing. No-one. _"Talking to myself in the darkness."_


	13. Chapter 13 To belong

Elias had pulled himself up off the floor of the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out. He leaned forward against the sink and looked into the mirror, staring into the reflection of his cold dead eyes. He closed them and bowed his head, drowning out any thoughts that were screaming inside his head. It was only when he did that, that he heard the music from downstairs.

He raised his head and opened his eyes, trying to catch the tune. But it was all to muffled for him to make any of it out. The only way he'd know, is if he did what he had planned on doing all along. He got dressed in his clothes from this morning, then exited his room and descended the stairs.

Elias was quiet and careful, turning his head to the left and walking in that direction as well. Allison was in the kitchen, her hips gently swaying to the music as she sang along with the lyrics. She seemed to be preparing something at the counter, but Elias couldn't see what. He could smell the food, though. Something cooking in the oven, without a doubt.

 _"Why does the sun go on shinning?_ " Allison sang along with the lyrics, her voice actually smoother and more comforting then one would expect. He was taken back by it, and found himself enjoying it. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, watching and listening. " _And why does the sea rush to shore? Don't they know, it's the end of the world? 'Cause you don't love me anymore. Why do the birds go on singing? Why do the stars glow above? Don't they know, it's the end of the world? It ended when I lost your love..._ "

She turned around to the table, but instead found a smirking Elias leaned in the doorway. She shrieked in surprise and jumped backwards, slamming into the counter and nearly hopping up on it. Elias cracked a grin and chuckled, causing her to chuckle along as she placed a hand over her racing heart. "You scared me!" she proclaimed the obvious, moving back towards the table.

He let his grin diminish back into a smirk. "Sorry. I was gonna say something, but...I couldn't stop listening to your voice." He uncrossed his arms and walked forward, laying his hands on the back of a chair and leaning forward on it, looking on at her.

"I'm sure it was so awful they could hear it at the gates." She remarked and walked over to her fridge. She pulled out two beers, then closed the door with her hip.

Elias reached out and took one from her, twisting off the cap and quickly taking a sip of it. "Not at all." he growled after the drink. "It's a lot better then I could ever sing."

She raised a brow and smirked, leaning back against the counter. "You sing?" Her tone was inquisitive, surprised and curious all at once as she took a quick sip of her beer.

Elias chuckled with another smirk and bowed his head. He shook it and looked back up at her. "No. At-least, not well."

"We seem to say that about ourselves a lot." She remarked. "I grew up listening to old love songs like that one. I practically know them by heart, as sad as that is."

Elias shook his head in protest. "No, not at all. I...lived in a very rural part of New Mexico. We didn't even get local radio reception, and any visitors that far out were just people lookin' to kill us and take what we had. If I wanted music, I had to make it up. Or ask the old man if he knew of any." He took a another, longer drink of his beer.

Alison nodded. "So that's the old man you mention now and again." Elias nodded once, causing her to wonder if he had something against him. Then she wondered what Elias' father was like in the first place. He had to be something special to raise such a gifted son. But, she knew if she asked him, he'd probably clam up and never talk about it again. So she moved on to the next best thing. "So, did papa Booker know any songs?"

He gave a small smirk and stood up, staring at the oven. "He knew a few." He replied dismissively, taking another drink of his beer. He pointed down at the stove and asked; "What's in there?"

She looked at the oven and inhaled deeply, holding the breath with parted lips. She looked back at Elias as he looked at her. "Rad-roach." She said with a nervous smile.

He huffed out a chuckle. " _Delicious._ "

"Don't worry," she said in a drawn out tone that caught his attention. "I got it seasoned to where you couldn't tell if you were eating back-woods BBQ or at the Ultra-Luxe in New Vegas."

Elias wrinkled his brow as he pulled out a chair and took a seat, kicking one leg up onto the chair beside him, fingers tapping at the glass of the beer in his lap. "The way you talk...have you been to these places?"

She gave a disappointed and dismissive smirk, then leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. "I've been to New Vegas, and I've been into the edge of the Dead Barrens. Louisiana, I mean."

"You've been around." Elias stated and leaned forward a little bit, taking interest.

She shrugged it off casually. "New Vegas was with a caravan, all I did was get blasted drunk and lost half my caps. And...you ever been to Louisiana?" she asked with a nervous look on her face.

Elias paused, an uneasy feeling settling into his chest as he thought back. "Yes..." he simply mumbled, his eyes drifting off to stare into space.

"Then you know what it's like..." she replied in a hushed tone. "After seeing four deserts and a swamp, I was very content to settle down here."

Elias nodded and leaned back in the chair, looking over at the oven. "You don't sound like you're from the Lone star Wasteland." he turned his head back towards her.

She took a long drink of her beer then sat it back down on the counter. "Oklahoma, actually. I couldn't wait to get out of that place...too many ghosts. Then I saw a lot of the Wasteland and I just...lost interest."

Elias nodded, hearing the egg timer by the stove go off. He didn't look at it, but Allison did. She got up and went over to it, silencing it, then putting on a pair of oven mitts and reached into the stove, taking the pan out and laying it on the stove-top. You could hear the meat sizzling inside of it.

" _So_ ," Allison said with a type of caution in her voice, instantly telling Elias that she was going to ask something personal. She turned around and faced him, staring into his eyes. "tell me some about your travels."

Elias stared back for a minuet then shook his head in a definitive _'no'_ and took a drink of his beer. "Oh, come on." She replied, walking forward pulling out a chair. She took a seat in-front of him, and he tried not to look back into her eyes, but failed. They gazed back into hers as she spoke again. "You're The Lone-star Ranger. I'm sure you've got plenty of tails to tell."

He swallowed hard, his heart suddenly racing and rising to his throat. He briefly looked away, then shook his head as he reached out and laid his beer on the table. "None worth telling." he simply replied, and in a low tone.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "They tell stories about you all over the Lone-Star Wasteland. " She said looking at him, her arms crossed below her chest. He glanced at her then looked away again, head bowing slightly. "They can't all be made up. And even if they were, surely something exciting has happened to you."

" _Exciting?_ " He mumbled, his brow wrinkling slightly. Is that what the waste's saw him as? An adventurous children's tale? Some misguided story of heroism and valor? "My life has not been _'exciting'_ my any stretch of the means."

She tilted her head lightly, not being able to see his expression. "Then what has it been?"

He paused, sudden burst images flash though his mind. Gunfights, bar fights, blood. It soaked the dirt. An the sound of gun-casings hitting the ground. If there was mystery, it was in pain. If there was intrigue, it was why there was blood on him. If there was a story to be told, it was a cautionary tale of loss, and pain. _"Hell..."_ he mumbled his reply to her.

She paused, staring at him and feeling a source of deep rooted pain radiating off of him. She wasn't sure if she should touch it, but she had to try. Try to make it better. "Surely...there's been some good-"

"If there was, it's dead." he cut her off in a stern and low voice. "If there was, it's _long_ dead. Along with anything else that ever brought me any sort of relief or hope. Because this world we live in, this _wonderful_ wasteland those fuckin' idiots outside talk about me roaming when I was younger, is hell."

"I'm not a knight in shinning armor, saving the lost and giving hope to the hopeless. I'm a man, who's been torn, twisted, crushed and brutalized from the horrors that I tried to keep away from everyone else."

He paused, looking at the table but not at Allison. He didn't want to see her expression, or her the sorrow or anger from his voice. He wished the topic had never been brought up. But just like everything else, there was no taking it back. So he turned his head and looked away, a strong look of remorse mixed with anger in his eyes. "But who gives a shit? Let's forget that he's human, take his pain and polish it all nice and shiny so it can be told like some fuckin' fairy-tale around the campfire."

There was another brief pause before Elias heard anything at all. "I get it." Allison replied very evenly and understandingly. "People painted you up to be something you're not, and it upsets you to hear stories about your pain changed to fit some moral code."

He couldn't believe it. Someone had finally got what he'd felt and thought for so many years, even before he disappeared. He turned his head and looked at her, his brow still wrinkled and eyes still dark. "But it's impossible to tell what's sacred ground if I don't know what is, Elias. Some of the things you say are like...mysteries. Names with no idea who's the face behind them, events with no real clarification. I want to get to know you, but I'm scared of hitting on something painful."

He turned his head then reached out and grabbed the beer off the table. He brought the glass bottle to his lips and took a drink of it, then sat it back down. "I've lost a lot of things, and a lot of people. And as much as I want it to, the past cannot remain buried."

"Because you can't run from it." She shot back just as quick, leaning forward on the table afterwords. "It's inked into your skin, and no matter how hard you scrub at it, the ink just won't wash away. If you don't want to talk about it, then don't. But eventually, the weight of your past? It's gonna crush you. And no matter how strong you are, you won't survive that. You'll need to unload, and someone will need to help you."

She stood up and turned around, heading back over towards the stove. She pulled the top of the pan and let the smell of garlic and herbs fill the room. Elias breathed it in deep, then let it out in a slow and steady pace. There was silence in the room, and Elias didn't like it. _"Will the circle be unbroken."_ He mumbled, causing her to pause. "The song, the one that the old man used to sing. It was _'Will the circle be unbroken.'_ He taught me to sing it too, but I haven't in...a very long time."

She turned her head and looked back at him, seeing that he was somberly looking off into the distance. "When was the last time you sang it?" she asked, turning her body and leaning against the counter.

He looked over at her and gave it some thought. "I sang it...six or seven years ago. To my daughter, on her Birthday."

Alison's expression suddenly flattened, and a sense of dread settled into her heart as it sank. She feared to know what happened to her, and dared not ask. Though she wanted to. She wanted to know more, but her heart demanded that she didn't ask. Only one question left her lips. _"What's her name?"_

He sat there, twisting the bottle of half drank beer on his leg. "Jennifer." He stated, his breath catching as it left his lungs. He hadn't said that name out-loud in so long. "Her name was Jennifer. But I ca...I called her Jenny." His eyes teared, and Alison witnessed one roll down his cheek just before he raised the beer and took another drink of it. He laid the bottle back on his leg and sat silently for a minuet. After that minuet passed, he drew in a shaky breath.

Her heart sank further for him, and her stomach tightened as she could see the pain in his teary eyes. She had to do something, do anything, to make him feel anything other then the pain he felt now. The one thing that occurred to her was; compatibility. "My moms name was Janet." she suddenly said.

"She, uh...She was a rough woman to know, and an even rougher woman to love. Daddy wasn't there, so it was me and her. And she could have very well not been there either. She was the town lay, and a chem-addict. She'd do anything to get her next fix. And she did do anything. When I was fifteen or sixteen years old, she tried whoring me out too. Said it was my 'Womanly duty to get by any way I could.'" Alison scoffed and shook her head.

"I met a boy, Chris. He was Mr. tall dark and handsome. Some gallant knight to come and swoop me off my feat. And swoop he did...I ran away from home before mom could have anyone touch me. He carried me off into the sunset, and we left Oklahoma together. Ended up Kansas, and settled down for a while. Then...mama's habits caught up with me I guess."

Elias looked over at her, some what surprised. She closed her eyes and shook her head, opening them once she was done. "Druggy, not a whore. I never cheated on my husband, but...she sure did on me."

"You saw what that poison does." Elias replied, looking at her. "Why would you even think about touching it?"

She sighed. "I ask myself that question every day. I can blame Chris for getting me hooked on it, but in realty I don't rightfully know. But I did, and it was long and bad time in my life from there on."

"How long were you together?" Elias asked, seeing her posture slump.

She chuckled. "Five years. Our third year there is when I met Carter. We hit it off pretty quickly. Chris didn't like him though, and got defensive whenever Carter called him a bigot."

Elias huffed out a breath and finished off his beer, sitting it on the table beside him. "Sounds like a real stand-up kinda guy."

Her hand slid down to her stomach and rested over her scar as her eyes stared off into space. Elias noticed, but tried not to stare or linger on it too much. She finally took a deep breath and grabbed the pot off the stove, bringing it over to the table and laying it in the center. She laid her hands on the table and looked at him, then said something that surprised him. _"You're nothing like him."_

Was that what her silence was? He considered this when she turned away and retrieved two dull colored glass plates from a counter, and two sets of silverware. Was she once worried that Elias, for whatever reason, was like Chris? Or would become like him? He didn't know. But he found a new question in all of this, as she laid another beer on the table for him, then took a seat at the other end of the table.

Why was he, a stranger and a murderer, being compared to Alison's former husband?

Another day, and just more questions. But even after Elias' depressing thoughts earlier, and having awoke from the nightmare that was his past, he felt more relaxed being around her. Knowing she was more accepting then he first had thought.

She cut him a piece of the radroach and laid it on his plate, then did the same for hers. She bowed her head and began grace. This act caused Elias to stop from cutting in his slice. He didn't bow his head or close his eyes. It was alien to him, he didn't know how. He still felt forsaken by god, whatever faith he had abandoned somewhere out in the desert. But this was her house, and she had prepared this meal. So he stopped. _"Thanks."_ he thought to himself, acting as his silent prayer. He waited until she was done, then dug into the meal.

This felt strange, but right. Being here, and dinning with her. For the first time in perhaps his whole life, he felt as if maybe he did belong here. He took a drink of his beer, and complimented the meal with a genuine smile.

But what is it to belong? To truly belong? He didn't know. But maybe he'd find out.


	14. Chapter 14 Vendetta

_Three days later_

Early morning always proved to be the most quiet, peaceful, and slow part of patrolling the town. The sun was just starting to rise, and the air was actually cool, though it was quickly being warmed by the sun. It was time for the daily rounds, and he knew it.

Once Elias stepped out of Alison's house, he instantly felt the mild chill in the air. It was seven in the morning, and he was used to it being much hotter then this. He raised his arm and checked the pip-boy as he walked down the hill to main-street. The calendar read it was August 21st. It had been a while since he checked that calendar.

Lowering it, he continued on his way, keeping an ever vigilant eye out for anything out-of-the-ordinary. It had been quiet the past few days, all Elias had heard was the metal _ting_ of his spurs against the ground as he walked.

The mid-day brought more hustle and bustle to the town. Elias had broken up one bar fight, and found a missing stuffed-animal for a crying child that wouldn't leave him alone. Afternoon's were a little more tense, the guards doubled their patrols, and anyone coming into town hurried to get here before sun down. That was usually the time when Elias stressed the most.

But, this was morning, and he could take it easy. A woman was out carrying groceries back from the store. She had her hands full, but still gave a smile. Elias gave a small smile and tipped his hat, asking if she needed any help. She declined, but thanked him.

When Elias made it to what he had taken to calling the town square, as it was the road that lead into town and had several other roads branching off of it leading all through the city, he saw familiar sight. Near the front gate, Carter was saddling up his Strider to leave town once more.

He glanced over at Elias as the man in black approached him. "Headin' out again?" Elias asked, grabbing one of the saddle bags off the ground and handing it to him. Carter took it and nodded. "Yeah," He gruffly replied. "I got a feeling like I need to be out there."

"Where's out there, exactly?" Elias questioned, tilting his head a little and resting his hand on his gun belt. "Ever since I got here, you've been riding off every day in search for bandits. Who I'm guessing you got history with."

Carter moved forward towards Elias, grabbing the last saddle bag off the ground and strapping it on with the rest of them. "You guess too much." He retorted. "But yeah, I'm looking for someone. Best leave it at that."

He mounted the horse and Elias stepped clear of his trot as circled the beast around. "I'm just sayin', if you need help out there I know the wastes and am a fair shot in a shoot-out."

"I don't need help!" Carter called back as he trotted off. "Just take care of the town and look after Alison and Sam!"

Elias sighed and watched the leather-clad ghoul ride off towards the rising sun. He sighed then tipped his hat at the man, turning away and going back to his rounds. Carter was one of the most stubborn men he'd ever met when it came to accepting help. He knew that Carter knew his help wasn't just offered out of kindness or offered to just anyone. But he still refused it. Whoever the bandit Carter was looking for was, he was being hunted by a hell-bound ghoul with a hard-on for revenge.

The town always seemed peaceful. It was morning still, and Elias always kept that in mind. He had circled the town once already, took a break to see if Vic needed any help setting up. Avery was at his normal spot, reading his book and drinking his coffee. He waved at Elias who tipped his hat in return and left confidently.

It was around that time, when he reached the square for the second time, that he heard music from people's nearby radio's or record-players. Some houses played faster paced big-band music, while others played slower music. The kind that makes you wanna grab a gal, hold her tight and slow dance with her until the sun comes up.

He began the walk up the hill towards Alison's house when the door to the brothel flew open. A young, short lady in the most sheer and short sleep-ware Elias had ever seen ran out, looking desperate. She looked up towards Alison's house on the hill, then down a the square and saw Elias making his way up.

" _Sheriff_!" she squeaked in panic, causing Elias to look up at her and wrinkle his brow as she began to run down the hill towards him. She slipped and nearly tumbled, causing Elias to rush up the hill and catch her. His hands held her soft arms tightly, and she looked up from his chest and into his glaring dark eyes. Her's were baby blue and teary, and her hear a light brown. She only came up to his chest in height. " _Oh god, Sheriff, come with me!_ " she begged.

Elias could sense the panic in her voice, and in her eyes when she rapidly glanced back at him to make sure he was following. "What happened!?" he demanded as he ran up the hill after her.

" _It's Bethany!_ " she nearly sobbed as she ran up onto the brothel, Elias chasing right behind her.

She grabbed pulled open the door, unleashing sounds of distress and pain. All the girls were huddled around on the ground near the bar, a few sobbing. Elias could distinctly hear a moan of pain, and one of the girls telling Bethany to " _Shhh, it's going to be alright. Jordan went to get the doc, it's okay._ "

The small girl, Tiffany, ran to Bethany's side and crouched down beside her. Elias wrinkled his brow and gave a quick glance around the empty building. "Samantha!" he shouted, startling a few of the girls and causing them to look at him.

" _I'm gonna kill 'em!_ " Sam suddenly shouted from the back room. She came storming around the corner, carrying a caravan-shotgun on her arm and a handful of shells. _"I'm gonna fuckin' kill that son of a bitch!_ " she screamed again, loading the shells into the shotgun and slamming it closed.

" _Whoa, whoa, whoa!_ " Elias shouted, getting in her way and grabbing the shotgun out of her hands. She put up no effort, knowing that Elias was much stronger then her. He held it away when she reached for it. "Would someone tell me what the _fuck_ going on!?"

She looked over at Bethany, laying on the ground with the other girls surrounding her, then back at Elias. She snarled a little and threw down the shells, reaching out and grabbing his arm. She dragged him over to the end of the bar and looked down at her. " _That._ " was all she muttered.

Bethany, a girl in maybe her mid to late twenties, laid on the floor, trying not to sob in pain. Her face was mostly swollen, her lip split and left eye bloodshot and blackened. On her left cheek she had a cut, and her hands were cut from some sort of struggle. She clinched her gut and gave a single sob of pain.

Elias laid the shotgun down on the bar and looked down at Bethany with fear in his eyes. " _Jesus..._ " he muttered, shoulders slumping. His heart sank for the poor girl. He suddenly heard the shotgun slide off the bar beside him, and turned to see it was gone. He swung around to see Samantha walking towards the door with it clutched tightly in her hands. He ran forward, quickly catching up with her and grabbing the shotgun.

She spun when he grabbed it, but wouldn't let go. Instead she had an even angrier expression on her face and in her eyes. Elias yanked on the gun, telling her to let go, but she didn't loosen her grip at all. "Sam, let go of the gun and tell me what happened! You're not even allowed to have guns in the town!"

She growled out a huff of breath and slammed her foot down, pushing the gun into Elias' chest and nearly knocking him back. "Ryan Shaw happened! Thirty year old, pompous drunk came in here half blasted from the night before. Bethany was the only one in here, the rest of the girls were in the back and I was upstairs managing caps. She told him we were closed, and apparently he tried to get a freebie out of her. When she refused...he did that to her."

Elias' jaw clenched and he turned his head, looking back over at where Bethany was laying. "He punched her several times, slammed her head into the bar then when she was down he kicked her in the gut. One of the girls took a shot at him with a little derringer, but missed. Scared him off."

His blood boiled in his veins, and his adrenaline surged through his heart. He felt nothing but the warm, hot demon that was rage. It stirred inside of him, and his clenched jaw escalated into a slight snarl and nose twitch. His eyes became even more black. Cold and dead. He could see nothing but red, and his hands itched. "If I ain't allowed to kill him, then how you gonna give me justice? _Sheriff._ " Sam growled at him.

Elias suddenly threw the shotgun onto a table and turned away, causing Samantha's expression to shift from anger to curiosity. "Elias?" She asked him as he pushed open the brothel door. She quickly ran after him.

He was on a war path, taking large strides back down the hill. " _E-Elias?_ " She asked again, trying to keep up with him and not sprint. He didn't answer. He kept a steady path through the square and towards the store.

He pushed open the door, and though the building was well lit all he could see was a dark red. " _S-Sugar, where you going?_ " Samantha asked from behind him. They walked all the way to the back of the store, where Elias finally growled ' _Wait_ ' and went into the armory.

Samantha was now more worried then curious. She wanted justice, but what was this? Was this justice in Elias' eyes, getting whatever he wanted to kill Ryan with? She didn't even know if that was the plan. She didn't even know if he was going to walk out of there with a hunting rifle or a minigun.

But to her surprise, when Elias left the room, he had nothing. She wrinkled her brow and backed up as Elias marched towards her. "Where does Ryan live?" he growled his demand, marching past her. She shook her fear and quickly followed, moving past him and declaring that she'd lead him to the bastards house.

And lead she did. They went back up the road and past the doc's clinic, and down through a small street of tin houses. "Furthest down on the right, see the guy sitting in his rocking chair? That's Ryan." Samantha said, then slowed down to stop, letting Elias march forward without her.

People were out-and-about on this street, but Elias didn't notice. He didn't notice the elderly or the kids. Didn't hear the music playing or the laughter. He only heard the crunching gravel under his boots, and felt the itching in his hands. He stuck them into his pockets, and took a deep breath.

Ryan sat rocking in his rocking chair talking to some woman across the street. He raised a water-bottle and took a drink of it, turning his head just in-time to see Elias walking up on him. "You think it's fun to hit girls?" Elias growled.

"What-?" Ryan didn't even have time to complete his sentence. Suddenly Elias' hands were out of his pockets, and fitted around his knuckles were a pair of solid brass-knuckles. They were gripped tight in his hands. Ryan didn't get another word out before Elias lunched forward, swinging his right hand forward and slamming his reinforced fist into Ryan's cheek.

Ryan grunted and fell to the left out of his chair. His head was spinning, and he could see stars. But he knew that Elias meant business, and that business was bad for Ryan's health. The whole street froze, and a few people gasped from the sudden outburst.

Ryan groaned and got onto all fours, turning his head and looking up at Elias with a swelling cheek. Suddenly another punch, this one angled down. The brass chimed against his cheek bone, and it knocked Ryan into the dirt. He groaned again, rolling over onto his side.

Elias grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled him over onto his back. Elias dropped to his knees, which were along Ryan's sides, and threw his right arm back. Everything just kinda slowed down for Ryan. He could see the devil in black, coming to claim the prize of Ryan's soul. His drinking and whoring and life of sin had finally caught up with him, and god saw it fit to unleash hell upon him. He had time to come to this conclusion as another reinforced punch slammed into Ryan's cheek again.

Then a left hook, knocking his head in the other direction. Then right, but this one connected with the jaw. Blood flew with that punch, and when his head was knocked back to his left, it did again. This time, a tooth broke.

Fury was overwhelming. The power it gave man was too much. The strength that rage and adrenaline bestowed was godly and sinful. Elias could feel it running through his entire body, and packing more strength behind each punch. It was good he had the advantages, as normally he was in Ryan's place when it came to fist-fights.

Another right hook. Then another. Then once again. Over and over and over until teeth were breaking and flying out of Ryan's mouth. Elias grunted louder and louder with each punch, hitting him from the left a few times. One punch connected right with the jaw, and dislocated it with ease. Elias swung again with a louder grunt of rage, knocking Ryan's head the other way and breaking his nose.

It wouldn't stop. The rage Elias felt. It wouldn't stop flowing through him, fueling him. He kept punching, feeling blood hit his hands and hearing the brass chime against the bone when it connected. He jabbed forward a few times, slamming his fist into Ryan's mouth twice then into his right eye.

Finally, Elias gripped the man's shirt and pulled him forward. He spat blood and teeth, and Elias brought the man's broken and bloody face right up to his. "I swear to god, if you ever, _EVER,_ hit another woman, you _EVER_ treat a woman any less then a fuckin' goddess! I will hunt you down and I will not stop hitting you! You hear me!? I will bash your fucking skull in with my bare hands!"

He threw his right arm back with a roar then launched it forward, like it was rocket propelled. It slammed into the side of Ryan's head, knocking him out cold. He slammed into the ground, and a bloody and sweaty Elias was left standing over the man. His chest rose and feel quickly, his heart racing, and a blood splattered snarl on his face. Greasy bangs dangling in-front of his sweat soaked brow and black eyes. He stood up, hands covered in blood, staring down at the horribly beaten man.

Samantha reached down carefully, picking Elias' hat up off the ground. She stood just as carefully, reaching out and grabbing Elias' arm. " _C'mon_ " she whispered to him, pulling on his arm. He stepped back, still staring at the man with nothing more then anger and hate in his eyes.

He was pulled away from him, leaving the residents to gawk in fear. After he had been pulled away, a few of them rushed to Ryan's side, one of them ordering people to get the doctor. Mothers hurries children into their homes and closed the doors.

Samantha had Elias by the coat, and was leading him down the street. She would admit that she was nervous and afraid. She'd seen plenty of horrible things. Death in abundance. But what she had just seen had to be the most brutal of it all. She'd never seen such rage flow threw a person, and the thought had crossed her mind that just shooting Ryan would have been less painful and cleaner then brutalizing him and disfiguring him. She didn't pretend to know what was going through Elias' mind. She just clutched his coat-covered wrist and pulled him up the hill towards Alison's house.

They barged through the front door, Elias stopping when Samantha put her hand on his chest. "Alison!" she hollered for the mayor, turning her head and looking at Elias. His face was blood splattered and sweaty, but he just didn't care. His cold dead eyes stared off into space. It sent a chill up her spine, just from his pure lack of empathy.

Alison came out of her bedroom and tilted her head. Samantha looked nervous, and she cemented that fact by turning around and closing the door. "What's going on?" Alison asked as she drew closer to the two, not seeing the fine details of blood that covered Elias's face and hands.

Samantha turned around stepped in-front of Elias. Alison stopped walking and wrinkled her brow. "Don't hurt him." Samantha pleaded, knowing her old friend and her tendencies to take a swing when she was angry.

Alison's brow only wrinkled more, and she was about to ask why when she looked up at Elias to see the fine mist of blood that was sprinkled across his face. Her heart suddenly began to race and her jaw slightly dropped. She looked at Samantha who looked distressed. " _What...happened...?_ " Alison demanded, clenching her hands tightly into fists.

Samantha put her hands up and backed up against Elias. "Calm down first."

"My Sheriff is covered in blood and you're telling me to calm down! That's all the reason I need _not_ to be calm! What happened?"

Samantha looked up at Elias who looked back down at her. She gave a sigh, staring into the man's dark eyes. She turned back around and looked at a furious Alison. "Ryan Shaw was drunk off his ass from last night and came into the brothel. He beat one of my girls when she refused to get him off, then ran away like a little bitch. Elias found out and there was a fight-."

 _"I won."_ Elias suddenly said in a low and gruff voice as he stared down at the floor.

"-Which Elias won." Samantha added. "But it was... _rough_."

Alison was silent for a moment, then drew a breath and tried to calm her self. "So... _why_ is he covered in blood...?"

Elias looked over at Alison and replied in a strong voice. "It was rough." Samantha sighed and bowed her head, stepping out of the way as she pinched the bridge of her nose with her eyes closed tight.

It was when she did so, that Alison got the full look at Elias. Bloody brass knuckles clung to his blood covered fingers. His hands trembled slightly and loosely hung to his sides. "Are you fucking serious?" Alison asked, looking up into his eyes. "With your temper, did you _really_ need brass-fucking-knuckles!?"

Elias raised his hands and slid them off, laying them on a small table to his left that had only an ashtray and a lamp sitting upon it. He looked down at the blood on his hands, and the slight bruising where the brass-knuckles had slammed tightly against his hands. Maybe she was right, and it was just pure psychotic rage that fueled his need for violence.

"I don't need to explain myself to anyone-"

"Bullshit!" Alison screamed at him with fire in her eyes. "You beat a man so bad you're covered in his blood, you better get to explaining!"

As soon as the last word left her lips, Elias screamed back and took a step forward. "He _BEAT_ a woman! _Beat_ her! Like a man would beat another man...so I showed him." She stared into his full dilated eyes as nose twitched and and fists clinched tightly. "I gave him exactly what he deserves...you don't do that to a woman."

Alison stared into those cold eyes for what felt like an eternity. They were just an endless void of darkness. But in that darkness, she the condition of his soul. Tortured, pained, filled with remorse. Regret on every level of his being. There was no light in them, no life. No hope.

She reached forward and gently laid her hand softly on his cheek, feeling to stubble under her palm and fingers. His twitch suddenly stopped, and eyes narrowed to their normal state. Hands relaxed. "Was this justice, Elias...?"

Her stared at her for a moment, then turned his head away, letting her hand drop to his chest. His heart skipped, but he maintained himself. Even if inside of him, an overwhelming since of guilt and shame boiled to the surface. "There is no justice," he mumbled, fully believing in what he was saying. "there's just a guy with a gun. And all you can do is pray he has morals. Has some notion of right and wrong."

He turned his head back and looked at Alison with hopeless eyes once again. "There is no justice. Just vendetta's, revenge, and convection. You do with your bullets as you will. You make yourself that kinda man, you're not born as him."

Her hand slid from his chest, and dropped back to her side as they both stood there staring at one another. She knew he believe in everything he just told her, but deep down she knew he was wrong. "There are good men, Elias. You have a chance to be one of them."

Her words tried to work their way into his cold, iron-clad heart. But he had been told different from the day he was born. "Good men are the first to die. There's no place for good men in this world anymore, just survivors."

Her moved away from her, brushing past her arm as he walked towards and up the stairs. His footsteps carried through the house until he closed the door to the guest bedroom, leaving the two woman down there in utter silence. Samantha was still in mild shock, and Alison looked just about as hurt as Elias does when he think's no one's looking. " _What do we do...?_ " Samantha softly asked.

Alison looked over at her and sighed, stepping forward and grabbing her denim coat off the rack and sliding it on. "We're gonna tell the town the truth, over the intercom."

She turned towards the door and Sam went to follow, but stopped. "And what is the truth?" She asked, causing Alison to look over her shoulder at Sam, blonde bangs partially obscuring her vision. "That Elias' morality told him to get a pair of brass knuckled and...break a man's face?"

Alison turned around and faced Samantha, hand still on the doorknob. "Is that what you see?" She asked inquisitively, but didn't give her enough time to answer. "Because I see a man who looked down at a broken and bloody girl, and decided the monster that did this didn't deserve a clean bill of health...sound familiar?"

Alison turned around and turned the doorknob, pulling open the door and leaving the house. Samantha sighed, then followed, closing the door behind her. The house was silent now, no screaming, no whispering. No broken hearts or heated tempers. No music or soft words to calm the mood.

Elias remained upstairs, his upper-torso stripped of his clothes, and the water running in the bathroom. He had thrown some on his face and watched the murky red tinged water go down the drain. Now he stood scrubbing at his hands. The blood seemed to be everywhere.

" _Is that who we're gonna be one day, Elias?_ " her voice echoed from beside him, though he knew she wasn't there. " _Are we gonna be dead heroes?_ "

" _No._ " he had replied. He remembered this as the water grew hotter and his breathing more shaky as he scrubbed at the red staining his hands. " _Heroes don't exist, Jenny. And good people die too early in life for them to make a real difference. No, we're just survivors. People who've walked the wastes and tamed it._ "

She scoffed and shuffled around next to him. He couldn't remember what she was doing. " _Ever hear of survivor's remorse?_ " The water was scolding now and the blood was finally starting to come off, but Elias kept scrubbing. " _I just don't want us to be old one day and to look down at our hands to find they're callused and covered and blood._ "

" _We won't._ " he replied, laying a hand on her shoulder and looking at her with trusting eyes. " _Things are gonna get better. This...this life we lead...it'll come to end. And the survivors like us? We'll finally have peace. It'll get better, Jen. Just believe it will._ "

He jerked his hands out from the water and turned off the tap. The steam fogged the mirror, but now the room was silent. Elias looked up into the foggy mirror, then wiped at it, seeing his reflection. " _Just don't let too much blood get on your hands, dad. Sooner or later, that's all you'll be able to see._ "


	15. Chapter 15 When strong men break

Cheap booze all tasted the same. Doesn't matter where you go and get it from, New Vegas or the smallest most dingy town in the west, it all tasted the same. Bitter, like sorrow, and strong like pain. It was meant to drown those feelings down, but it seemed to be made of the same kinda shit you were aiming to drown. Elias snarled and downed another shot of something that faintly tasted like whisky.

Girls giggled in the background, and the clanking of pool-balls from the pool table below him could be heard. People's conversations carried on and some of the drunker, friendlier patrons sang songs or along with the jukebox when they liked the song it played.

Samantha's whore-house was a busy place at a little around 10pm. Elias had been there for the better part of the day He'd claimed a corner booth upstairs and drew the curtains. Samantha put him in in the velvet-roped off "Reserved" section, and even put a private sign next to his booth so no patrons would bother him. It was quiet in his little corner, and he liked it.

He had a half drank bottle of whiskey on the table beside him, and his legs were kicked up on the red leather, square "U" shaped couch he was sitting on. His coat was laying beside him, his boots on the floor, and his hat upside down on the coat. Even his button up shirt was half way undone. Hair ruffled and eyes baggy and heavy. He downed another shot, and felt disgust in the drink and himself.

Alison had told the whole town what had transpired, trying to explain it all away. But to Elias it sounded more like an apology for him. He didn't know what the town thought of him now, probably afraid. Probably why no one had bothered him. But he didn't care. He never did care about them. Maybe it was a mistake staying here.

He threw back another shot and slammed the shot-glass on the table. The liquor swayed in the half empty bottle, and he settled more into the couch. It was comfortable up here, secluded in the dark. He liked it.

But just as the comfort set in, the curtain suddenly slid back, casting a faint light into the booth. Elias covered his eyes for a minuet then looked up, seeing a blonde woman with her hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, all but her bangs. Alison. "Close the damned curtain, you're blinding me." Elias murmured.

She stepped into the booth and slid the curtain close, letting Elias' eyes adjust to the dimness in which he had been basking in. He looked up at her, and her blue eyes pierced down into his, arms crossed over her chest. She looked angry. "Thought you didn't come to brothel's." She remarked, looking at his sorry state.

Elias looked away and hammered back another shot, then grabbed the bottle and poured him another. "Said I didn't come for the whore's." he replied, tipping the head of the bottle towards the bench-seat Alison was next to. She didn't sit at first, she just stared at him. He stood the bottle up on the table, then relaxed back into his former position. "There a reason you're here? Or are you just here to...give your.. _.piece of mind._ " He slammed back his next shot, cringing at the burn but enjoying it.

He reached out to grab the head of the bottle and drag it towards him, but Alison's hand grabbed it firmly first. He looked up at her, and his eyes followed her as she took a seat, keeping her hand on the bottle. "How drunk are you?" her voice quivered out in rage.

He scoffed and grabbed the bottle, staring into her eyes. "Not nearly drunk enough for this shit."

He tried pulling it towards him, but her grip tightened. Enough to were you could hear her skin clenching around the glass. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Elias?"

His eyes dilated and head lowered slightly, an angered look sweeping across his face, nose gave a slight twitch before he reached up and scratched at it to try to make it stop. "What do you want with me? Is someone dying? Someone break something, or been murdered? Or you just lookin' for a soul to blame."

"Jesus Christ, Elias, what _is_ wrong with you? You're out of your damned mind if you think I'm here to berate you." She growled, showing no real proof in her voice that she wasn't here to do just that. And rightfully, she didn't if she was either.

Elias suddenly yanked on the bottle with an immense force, ripping it from her hand and splashing some on the table. He looked down and poured himself a shot. "Oh, you tell me, mom." He mocked her, holding the bottle close and downing the shot before laying the glass on the table and keeping the bottle. "Tell me what's wrong with me."

She opened her mouth and inhaled, not sure what she was going to say but knowing it would only further escalate the building argument. But suddenly Elias cut her off. "I'm violent. I'm cold, and rude, and brash. I'm angry and bipolar. I'm a drunk. I'm a murderer. I'm a psychopath. I'm a mad-dog killer who will slaughter this entire town if they ever stand against me. I'm just a broken mess, who shoulda' kept walking. Who shoulda' died up there in those hills with those two morons."

She scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. "You beat a man damn near to death with your bare hands! Don't make this a _'woe is me'_ story!"

"My whole goddamned _life_ is a tragedy." He said slamming his finger into his chest as he leaned forward and stared at her. He slammed back into his chair and took a large swig of the bottle, some the whiskey running down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it against his shoulder and looked towards the wall. "You're just choosing one demon out of hell."

"Is that why you're up here?" She snapped at him with more anger in her voice. "To drown your bullshit in cheap booze and forget what you've done!"

"I AM UP HERE BECAUSE I _CAN'T_ FORGET WHAT I'VE DONE!" He screamed at her. You could suddenly hear the whole building go silent for a minuet, then continue along it's way, though in a quieter pace. Elias' breathing was heavy and his eyes pierced into her heart as sure as any blade would. "I nearly beat a man to death because he nearly beat a woman to the same state. If you want to judge me for that, _fine_! But don't you _DARE_ preach to me about humanity or justice! That's your thing, that's your bullshit to swallow, not mine!"

She knew this kind of behavior, she'd seen it a few times before, even in Carter. Elias leaned back again and looked at the wall, his hands shaking. She knew exactly what to do. She slumped further in her seat and wiped her expression clean, crossing her arms and looking at him.

"I know, I've made mistakes! There's not a day that I don't think about the one's I've made. But I've always tried to do what I felt was right! Always! I never turned a blind eye, I never turned away from anyone, I always helped when I could. And all that's gotten me is exhausted and worn down."

"So sit up here in a bar and wish it all away!" She shouted back at him, drawing his ire. "Drink away your pain and your regret and wish to whatever-the-fuck you believe in that it hadn't happened the way it did! But let me tell you something, I've done exactly what you're doing right now. And it took me to a place a lot worst then regretting the hell you've created or lived through. You're gonna find nothing at the bottom of these bottles. Nothing but emptiness, loneliness, and misery."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Huh?" He asked, making it sound more condescending then he would have liked. "I'm a killer, Alison. A killer. There is no happiness in the life I lead, only more death and misery. If I don't find relief here, then where?"

She suddenly slid to the left, towards the edge of the booth, then took a stand. She stood sideways to him and looked at him over her shoulder as one hand gripped the curtain. "Somewhere inside that head you're clouding with booze. Somewhere in there, your answer is just waiting for you. You want my advice? Put down your bottle, put down your pain, and give those demons you wrestle with so often some hell. Find something, someone, somewhere that you can find peace in. Then when all is said and done, stop and take in the moment. This life that we lead is short and brutal. Live it. So when you die, at-least you'll die knowing you suffered the pain and made it through. Make yourself into something you were comfortable with. And learn to get over the past. As hard as it may be, it's easier then being a broken record."

She left the room after that. Left as soon as she had arrived, it seemed. But it was just as Elias predicted. He felt like she came to kick him while he was down. Worsen him while he doubted himself. He was tired of being kicked. Tired of being told to get over the past. She was right about one thing, what she had said a few days ago about not letting people in and being upset when they step on something they don't know. But the whole point of them not knowing was just that. He didn't want them to know.

His rage boiled inside of him, and his breathing quickened. Suddenly, he hit a tipping point. He grabbed the bottle off the table and threw it as hard as he could. It slammed into the wall next to the booth's entrance, shattering in a loud crash that once again silenced the building. Alison stopped walking when she heard it.

She knew she was going to turn around and see if he was okay. She knew that she was. But to her complete surprise, Elias passed by her in a rush. He was still putting his hat on as he quickly sprinted down the steps. Something was very wrong, she could feel it in the air as Elias passed by. She was about to call out for him when she heard the front door slam.

A thought crossed her mind, and it drove he into a panic. She quickly ran forward and down the stairs as she muttered _"No, no, no, no, no, please god no."_ to herself in rapid succession. Sam was tending behind the bar, with a worried look on her face. Alison pointed upstairs and said to her "His stuff is upstairs, take care of it!"

"I will." Sam replied as Alison rushed outside of the door. She looked both ways, doing a quick spin when she left the brothel. There was no sign of him. He had just vanished into the night. A couple was walking by, holding hands and talking silently to each-other with smiles. "Hey," Alison said stopping them and getting their attention. "did you see the sheriff go by? A man in all black?"

"Yeah," the girl replied and pointed up the hill towards Alison's place. "we passed him. He was in a hurry that way."

Alison wasted no time taking off up the hill, the couple only looking behind them for a moment before continuing along with their peaceful night. But Alison's was anything but peaceful. Her heart was racing, and mind filled with a terror she'd long since forgotten.

 _"Please, please, please, please..."_ she muttered to herself more as she ran up the pathway leading to her pre-war home perched on-top of her hill. She pulled the screen door open and burst through the front door. She hadn't expected the sight she found.

Elias was breathing quickly and on his knees, head bowed and arm on the couch next to him. He looked like he was shaking. "Elias!?" Alison asked in a panic and rushed forward to his side. She slid on her knees next to him, grabbing his shoulder and tilting her head to see him. She was having a hard time seeing his face, so she took the liberty of grabbing his hat and pulling it off his head, tossing it across the room.

His cheeks and eyes were wet with tears. She could see just sheer panic and hopelessness written across his face. His breathing was a lot faster then it should be, and his eyes darted around the floor around him. What she was seeing, was terror. Panic. "Elias, what's wrong!?"

He looked up at her, unsure of what to say. He had never felt anything like this, not since...well, not for a very long time. He reached up and gripped her denim jacketed arm. " _I...I...I-I-I..._ " he stammered, unable to get his words out.

The terror, the sheer panic. The look in his eyes. Alison knew what this was, for she was prone to them. A panic attack. She took a deep breath and pressed into Elias, wrapping both her arms around him and pulling him as tight as she could against her. She pushed his head against her chest, laying one hand on the side of his head and softly, slowly, brushing her fingers over his ear and through his hair. _"Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay."_ She whispered as she held him tight.

His terrified eyes flicked around the room as they filled with tears. He instinctively reached up with his right hand and gripped her right arm. Then his left went up and gripped her other arm, pushing into her and shaking violently as he only managed a brief but terrified and dry sob out. _"No, no, no."_ Alison whispered to him, stoking his hair and holding him tight. _"Just take slow and deep breaths. It's okay, Elias. It's going to be okay, I've got you. I've got you...I'm not letting you go. I'm...I'm never letting you go. Just take slow, deep breaths. It's going to be okay."_

That closing feeling in the back of his throat returned, causing him to choke out a sob again. His eyes streamed with tears, and he clung to her, leaning into her harder. He could no longer hold it back. The dam he had build to hold back the emotion, the pain, the heart-ache. It broke. And it all hit him at once. He let out a long winded and pained sob, closing his eyes tight and turning his face into her warm chest.

Her eyes teared up as well, as she could hear the pain radiate in each cry he let out. He gripped and clung to her tighter, and she felt the tears soaking her shirt. No matter how painful anything from his past was, he needed something familiar. Something to ground and calm him. She thought for a moment if this was a good idea, but then realized with his next sob of pain that she had no choice. She softened her voice and drew in a deep breath. _"Will the circle...be unbroken...by and by...by and by."_

Her voice, soft and delicate, caught the attention of Elias. Even through his crippling pain. He still sobbed heavily into her chest, but he listened to her voice now. Her words. And let them comfort him. _"There's a better, home awaiting. In the sky, lord, in the sky...There are loved ones. In the glory. Who's dear forms, you often miss. When you close your earthly story, will you join them in their bliss?"_ She let her words sink in a little more, giving pause as she felt his body relax a little against hers.

" _One by one, their seats were emptied. One by one, they went away. Now the circle, has been broken. Will it be, complete, one day._ " A warm tear rolled down her cheek as he gave softer sobs of pain. She just held him tighter, and made no attempt to hold down the emotion that flooded her.

In doing so, that emotion fueled her next words, making them more stronger and powerful. Like a cry for help, on Elias' part. " _Will the circle...Be unbroke-n! By and by...oh by and by. There's a better...Home awai-ting! In the sky, Lord, In...the sky..._ " her final words were met with a shaky breath.

But for as much emotion as she let come through in her voice, Elias was quiet now. His breathing was calmer and he only shook in short bursts. His sobbing had long since stopped, and his eyes were closed. Head leaned into her chest.

They laid there, still as they could possibly be. In the dark and cool living room, with strands of silver moonlight shinning on them through the windows. She reached over to his face and gently wiped away the remnants of tears. She'd never seen such a strong man break down like this. But everybody breaks a little sometimes. Everybody.

We're only human. And by emotions standards, by life's cruel devices, that makes us porcelain dolls. Sitting on a shelf during an earthquake. It doesn't matter how long you hold on, it doesn't matter what you're made of. When your foundation shakes...when you fall...you will shatter when you hit the floor. Hit rock bottom.

It doesn't take a strong man to break. They're just the ones that hurt the most. That break the hardest. Snap the loudest. Rarely heard, but most often felt. Elias is just one of many men and women who have broken from the fall. From the descent that life throws us down.

What if she wasn't there, though? What if she hadn't came for him? He would have had that panic attack, on the floor, alone. He would have cried, and screamed as the pain of a lifetime snapped him in two. He would of had no one to cushion his blow, no soft whispers. No soft and warm chest to cry into.

She wanted to think no more of what would have happened without her. She only wished to see him comfortable. To see him recover and, maybe eventually, forgive the mistakes and heartache. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed sleep, and comfort.

She wouldn't turn him into his bed. No, not tonight. She put his arm around her shoulders and her other arm under his, and got to a squatting position on her feet, then stood. He was heavy, but knew what was happening and helped get on his feet. But he was weak. Ever so weak. She whispered sweet comforts to him as she carried him into her bedroom.

It smelled of a warm and sweet perfume. It felt warm upon entering it. She kicked closed the door behind her, and carried him to the left side of the bed. She never slept there, always preferred the right. He laid down, bouncing the bed and his head sinking into a pillow. She grabbed his boots and pulled them off of him then his socks and button up shirt. Grabbing his legs, she pulled them up onto the bed and watched him resting there.

His eyes were partially open, watery and hazy. They gently and slowly flicked around the room. She slid her hand down his leg as she walked away, to the other side of the bed. She stripped out of her jeans and denim coat and under-shirt. Putting on a much more comfortable pair of pajama's. Then slipped into bed next to him, pulling the covers over the both of them.

She laid on her back for a while, unable to do anything but pay attention to his presence next to her. His weighty, warm body. She'd forgotten what it was like to have another sleeping next to her. To feel another's presence. It was truly comforting, and she couldn't help but to turn over and move close to him.

Her body nuzzled up against his warm back, and her arm slid under his and around his body, her hand resting on his chest. She nuzzled her face into his his upper back, breathing him in and closing her eyes.

This is the price we pay, for the men we've become. For survival. We can only hold on, cling desperately to our foundation for so long. Before it crumbles, and we fall, and shatter. This is the price we pay for our survival.

Everybody breaks. Some just do so harder then others.


	16. Chapter 16 Broken Hearts

His senses returned to him, and he found himself in an unfamiliar place. The bed didn't feel the same. The air didn't feel the same. It caused him to panic, and his eyes flew open. He quickly jerked his hand off his face and rose up in bed, eyes adjusting to the natural light from the small window above him. He found himself staring straight into the living-room. "Good-morning." a soft feminine voice said next to him.

He turned his head to see Alison on her knee's on the other side of the bed, hands in a steeple. Her long blonde hair curled and tumbled down around her shoulders and in-front of her baby blue eyes. She smiled softly and bowed her head, closing her eyes and continued her prayer.

That's when it all come back to Elias. The events of last night an yesterday as a whole. He felt a pit in his stomach, and a electricity in his chest. He didn't like this feeling, and didn't know how to shake it either.

Nor did he know what to say to her. He woke up in her bed, and knew she took care of him, that she comforted him through the night. He slid his legs off the side of the bed, seeing most of the clothes he wore yesterday folded neatly on a chair. He felt a wave of something hit him. It was the feeling of disgust. A disgust for the symbol that he'd been cloaked in, and a feeling of disgust for himself.

He wanted to address the issue. Some part of him wanted to apologize and explain what happened. But that disgust just seeped into every pore of his body. He recalled the soul crushing pressure of the depression he's felt, and terror of the panic attacks, and tried to recall a time in his life when he had utter control over himself.

He couldn't.

So he slid off the bed and took a deep breath, staring down at the clothes. Alison looked up at him, seeing the look of hesitation. But also anger. She realized a little more that the disdain Elias felt for himself ran much deeper then she previously thought.

Inside, he felt cold and catatonic. He could feel through the disgust that something had to change. Something within him, perhaps. He felt as if he was rapidly approaching a crossroads. He didn't know where either direction would take him, but he knew he had to choose. Maybe he'd know when it was before him, but for now, he knew nothing other then the shame and disgust for himself.

He turned his head slightly, not quite looking over his shoulder at Alison, but letting her know he was addressing her. "Thank you...for what you did for me last night. My...actions...I-I apologize-."

"Elias, it's okay." She cut him off almost dismissively.

"-for everything." He finished regardless, giving her pause as she sat on her knees and stared at him from across the bed. He let that pause weigh into her for a minuet before he spoke again. "I need some time. Some time away from here, to myself. To think."

She wrinkled her brow, not sure of what to make the situation. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"No." He retorted ever a moment. "But it needs to be done. I'm going to take a copy of that list of places you haven't looted in the wastes. I don't know when I'll be back..."

She somberly stood, concern overwhelming her. "Are you even coming back...?"

He paused then turned to where he was facing neither Alison nor his clothes, instead the door across the room. "I will." he spoke softly. "It's early, I should be back by dusk. I just...I need to think."

Reluctantly, he turned and grabbed the dark button up shirt off the table, slipping it on and buttoning it. While he did so, Alison grabbed the gun belt off the table beside her. He heard it and turned his head, finding her holding it up and looking at him. "Let me help you, Elias. I can come with you, I can help. I won't get in your way."

Elias wrinkled his brow as he finished buttoning the shirt. Reaching over to his left and grabbing the dark pea-coat-like duster off the chair. He slid it on, then reached over and grabbed the hat. He looked into the hat is if gazing into a crystal ball, searching for answers in the darkness. When he found none, he put it on and looked over at Alison. "No," he answered bluntly with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry. The town needs you here, and I need to think without worry."

"But I'm gonna worry about you..." she said with a somber voice that sounded hurt. It made Elias' heart sink. He walked over and reached, out, grabbing his gun belt and laying his other hand on the back of hers. His wounded black eyes looked into hers, and he spoke softly. "I can take care of myself, you don't have to worry." He looked into her eyes and saw that nothing had changed. The worry remained, and her demeanor was the same. "What can I do to put you at ease that I'm coming back?"

She looked at the gun belt for a moment, then at his chest. Elias looked down at himself then back up at her. "Armor." She said nodding her head. "Some kind of armor; leather, metal, something."

Elias gave a nod and looked at the door. "I think I saw a Kevlar vest in the store. Anything else?"

"A gun." She said instantly, as if expecting him to ask. He looked over at gun belt they both held. "Not just those, Elias. I know you're not stupid, you've carried more guns then that in the past. The reason you carry just those, and with limited ammo, is because you're still stuck in the loop of wanting and expecting death."

Wrinkling his brow he turned more towards her and looked deep into her eyes. "That...that's not it."

"Yes, it is." she snapped back just as quick with a matter-of-fact attitude. "You take these risks. Limited ammo, a single set of revolvers that take time to reload, no armor. I know it didn't use to be like this. You stopped caring about your life. If that isn't the way it is, then prove me wrong."

Perhaps she was right. Elias felt empty and cold inside, and it wasn't unusual in any way for Elias to not realize his own actions. He let the demons of his subconscious direct him too much. So after accepting her terms, she let go of the gun belt. He strapped it on, pulling his coat over it and left the house with Alison right behind him.

She followed him into the store, into the armory. He wasted no time strapping on the Kevlar vest, and putting his coat on over it. Grabbing a bandoleer, he was able to load up a hunting-shotgun and put it on his back. He also re-fitted a sheathed Bowie knife into his boot, and stocked up on ammo. He hadn't felt so heavy with gear in a long time. It constrained him a bit.

She saw him off at the gate, helping him saddle the strider and practically demanding he return. Elias acknowledged dismissively then road off to the south. Practically no-one rode south. The further south you went, the worst the conditions and the danger got. Carter went south every time he left, claiming the best runs come from the south and that the men he tracked were most likely in that direction as well.

Elias enjoyed the warm sun and slightly chilled air. The quiet with nothing but the galloping hooves of the strider and the screeching of the cicada's. The occasional caw of a crow and the sweeping shadow of a volture. The shadow's always bothered Elias. His journey's had brought him to hellish terriroties, and he was witness to hellish beings. The ones that flew always bothered him.

The further he got away from the town, and the further the sun rose into the blue sky that was speckled with white clouds, the stronger the silence got. He'd forgotten what it was like to go south, towards The Crypts and the dead-lands. The further out you got, the less you heard. If he were to keep going, he'd find himself completely void of the sound of nature. Even the wind felt dead and heavy. It carried the hint of long decay, no matter in what direction you came from or went.

But he wasn't going that far south. He double checked the coordinates on the paper with the digital map on his pipboy, and calculated the location of an old school. Carter had written down beside it _"(Chance there might be meds from the nurses office and food from the cafeteria)"._

It wasn't horribly far from Prosperous Springs, but it wasn't close either. The striders hooves hit grayed and cracked pavement under the sand, and among the dunes Elias found his location. A large sign was bent but still jetting up into the air. An old school information board, the lettering faded and broken away. Whatever the name of the school was, it was lost now. Nothing but another dead ruin.

Elias slid off the saddle of the strider and tied the reins to the base of the sign. Tight enough the beast wouldn't escape, but loose enough where it could if something were to panic him enough.

The school stood dominant among the dunes, even as they closed in on it and suffocated it. The dune's from the right had slid in and pressed up against the side of the building, some of the sand even sweeping over the roof.

The front entrance was wide open, and nearly pitch black inside of it. A warm gust of air blew out from the building, blowing over Elias as he approached. The air was indeed warm, and it reeked of death. Elias wrinkled his nose and put his hand over it.

He stopped before the door and raised his arm, adjusting the dials on the pip-boy. The light's that encrusted the device suddenly lit up. Elias adjusted the dial until the whole device was practically glowing. It would be some-what unnerving to aim with the illuminated device in-front of his face, but he was a good enough shot that he trusted himself. He reached back and pulled the shotgun off his back, then walked through the front door's of the school.

The once bustling halls that were filled with innocent children, rowdy and angst ridden teens, and stern teachers, now laid decrepit. Ceiling tiles had fallen down, exposing wires and insulation. The walls had many holes in them, and stains of what was most likely dried blood. The tiles below his feet were chipped and cracked. They felt loose even.

The whole of the building felt very heavy, and it gave Elias an uneasy feeling. Right from the moment he entered, he felt as if he wasn't alone. He shined the light of his pip-boy everywhere his arms turned. He cast it over cobwebs that rested inside a broken glass display case that once held the pride of student-athletes and the school-board.

There were three hallways immediately before him. One, that lead up steps and down a wide hallway, and two thinner hallways at his sides. One appeared to have classroom doors lining it, one of them set ajar. The other hall led to a large set of rusted blue metal doors. They stood bent, but chained together. Impassable.

Elias moved the empty duffel bag he had at his side around to his back, so he could properly aim. He turned left, keeping the shotgun gripped and at the ready. There was five classrooms from what he could see, and another hall that turned to the right. He went room to room.

Starting with the first door on his right. He opened it with dismay, as it's rusted hinges creaked and scrapped together. The noise carried much further then he would have liked it to, and it made him cringe. Never-the-less, he pushed it open and revealed a classroom.

It's old chalkboard had several noticeable bullet holes in it, and in yellow chalk someone wrote " ** _NOT SAFE TURN BACK_** " and underlined it several times. Below the chalkboard the skeletal remains of a murauder laid sprawled out. His bones appeared gnawed on, several ribs broken off and an entire right leg missing. His flesh has been ripped from his bone. Every bit of him that held any substance had been devoured.

Elias put his back against the wall near the door, just in case something was in the room or something had heard the door. He slowly shimmied along the wall until he reached the skeleton, then took a knee beside it. " _Male, I think...probably a looter or a bandit._ " He thought to himself. His bones have been broken, the marrow emptied from them. His flesh torn away and dried blood surround him, all over the floor and walls. If Elias had to guess, there was a gunfight, and it attracted some unwanted attention. Flesh craver's. Scavengers of both the living and the dead.

Elias grabbed up the old faded grey 10mm pistol from near the skeleton. He put it in the bag, and proceeded to search the rest of the room. Dozens of school-desks lined in rows, some overturned and all of them chipped and cracked. No little skeletons though, which was both a pleasant surprise and a greatly worrying concern. Just because they're not in this room doesn't mean they're not here.

No one properly survived the great-war, not even the vault dwellers. 'Duck-and-cover' didn't do shit when the nukes dropped. They filled a child with hope of survival, but instead they were met with a fiery death. Just like the rest of civilization. It was a sad thought, and Elias quickly emptied it from his mind as he left the room.

Into the second one, he found another skeleton. It sat in an office chair, a .32 revolver still clutched in it's dead skeletal hand. The top of it's skull was shattered open, jaw no where to be seen. Someone had obviously been through here to discover this and close the door, as these bones were picked clean as well. And the last time Elias checked, beasts didn't close doors.

Elias took the revolver, put it in the bag, and proceeded to check the rest of the room. As he did so, the feeling of being watched only grew more and more intense. It was making him paranoid, and he constantly checked over his shoulder. He could swear that he could hear shuffling from somewhere in the halls. Scratching movements.

But upon exiting the room, he found the hall empty. It only exceeded in making him more paranoid. He clutched the shotgun tighter, and moved close to the door that was cracked open. The closer he got, the more the fear set in. It was a feeling he didn't feel often, but when he did, it was palpable.

The unease, the distress. It all weighed in on him as he got closer to that ajar door. He clutched the shotgun in one hand, finger resting beside the trigger and ready to blast anything that moved, as his other hand moved out and clutched the aluminum door handle. With a sudden jerk, the door whined open and slammed against the wall. Elias aimed the shotgun into the room, and in doing so, illuminated a startling sight.

Piled about waist high were old and decrepit clothing and shoes. The clothing of children, men and women. No bones, just this pile in the center of the room. It sent a chill rocketing up Elias' spine, and he swallowed hard as he pressed the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder. He could feel his heart thundering inside his chest. Reluctantly, he moved evermore into the room.

This was meticulously done, perhaps taken off of corpses. All the clothing was shredded and bloodied, but as Elias came closer he discovered another detail. The clothes were wet, and there was a faint smell of lighter-fluid around them. He wrinkled his brow, checking around the clothes and indeed finding a open and near empty bottle of lighter-fluid spilled on the ground next to the table. A old and congealing splatter of blood was next to it, and across the old table. But no body.

What happened here? It looked as if someone made a very desperate attempt to either destroy something, or the building it's self. The whole scene made Elias more than uncomfortable. He had racing thoughts that matched his heartbeat, all telling him to leave and never look back. But he had to know. It wasn't simple curiosity, this was a location marked on the towns map, if he didn't find out what was going on someone would come scavenging the place and get hurt or killed. It had to be him. And it had to be now.

Suddenly, the pip-boy on his wrist vibrated, and from behind Elias, the door creaked slightly. He spun on his heels, taking a stand and raising the shotgun at the same time. He only witnessed a shadow against the hallway wall outside disappear. Someone was in the building with him.

He burst from the room into the hallway, aiming the shotgun down to where he saw the shadow. But there was nothing. There were no more rooms in the hallway, only the path that turned down to the right. Elias wasted no time perusing the figure.

Rounding the corner to the next hallway, he saw a unwelcoming sight on each side of the hall. There were at-least five doors that lead into classroom. The shadow-caster could have ducked into any one of them. Elias gripped the gun tighter and reluctantly pushed forward, knowing any moment, any room, could hold an ambush.

The first door was on his left. He observed the lair of undisturbed dust on the doorknob, and knew nothing had entered the room. But to make sure there was nothing of importance inside, he grasped the door handle and opened it up.

Simply peering inside revealed the dust coated room. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and the corners of the room. The air smelled stagnant. Elias quietly closed the door, then approached the next one, which was on his right. He once again observed nothing had disturbed the dust on the handle, but all the same he twisted and pushed it open. It was more of the same in this room, except the air smelled a little more putrid. Possible from dead rodents who had chewed threw the walls.

Elias moved to the next door on the left. But before he could even grasp the handle, a noise came from the room on his right. He looked over to it, raising the shotgun with one hand and aiming it at the slightly opened door. The light from his pipboy shinned on the door, and yet another clamoring noise came from inside it.

Elias raised his other hand, laying it on the pump of the shotgun, and persistently moved towards it. The clatter came again, sounding like aluminum being buckled upon pressure. Elias knew for certain that there was something in there. He just didn't know what he'd find.

He pressed against the wall next to the door, peering through the crack and hearing more of the noise. It sounded like scraping now, accompanied by the sound of the denting aluminum. He gripped the stock of the shotgun tighter, closing his eyes for a brief second and giving a slow exhale. He wanted to keep his mind focused, he needed it focused. But when he closed his eyes, Alison's image raced through his mind. Her face, her eyes staring into his with that look she gave him. That look of desperation to help. He felt a sudden urgency, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what for. But, as if he wasn't already, it put him even more on edge.

He dashed forward, slamming his shoulder into the door, causing it to fly open and slam into the wall. He automatically aimed the shotgun, ready to take down whatever was before him. But there was nothing. The room was much more devastated by the elements then any of the others, as the ceiling had collapsed in on it's self. Sand had poured through the hole and coated the floor. What desks were here were tipped over, broken and rusted. It looked like an explosion had gone off in the room with all the debris.

The pip-boy buzzed again, letting Elias know whatever was in the area wasn't gone yet. He gripped the gun tighter, his breath laboring between his lips. It was the only sound in the room for a moment. Up until the ventilation system made a metallic popping sound to Elias' left.

It was then that he noticed it. From the bottom far left side of the room was an air-duct. And protruding from the air-duct was a bloodied and mangled body of a man. His clothes looked similar to the body of the dead Raider Elias had found in one of the rooms. His dead eyes stared widely into the room, mouth open and the one arm that was attached to his body was sprawled out in-front of him. Like he was reaching for something at the time of his death.

Elias wrinkled his brow, analyzing the peculiar sight. He began to wonder if the man had begun to crawl into the vent to get away from something. The thought entered his mind the moment he noticed the faint congealed blood-trail in the sand and on the tile flooring. It led from one side of the room, behind the section of collapsed ceiling, then into the vent where he now rested. It then became clear to Elias...something had dragged him into the vent.

Suddenly the duct popped again, as if a weight was shifting inside of it. And the dead body slid backwards into the vent. With one strong tug, the deceased man was gone out of sight. The sound of his body being drug through the vent, though, that carried on for a while. Seeming to echo through the whole building.

Elias muttered the word _'shit!'_ in panic under his breath, stumbling backwards towards the wall and aiming the gun at the vent. Anything could have drug that man into the vent. The only silver lining Elias could find was that; at-least it wasn't another fucking Deathclaw. He hoped.

Backing out of the room quickly, something caught his attention to his left. His back pressed against the wall behind him, and he turned his head to look. The sudden sound of shuffling away rang into the air, catching his full attention, as the sound was also accompanied by the sight of a shadow disappearing across the wall. He pressed the butt of his shotgun tight against his shoulder and ran forward, determined to catch who or whatever it was.

The hallway turned to the right and descended down some stairs that were cluttered with litter and debris. The stairs descended three times, leveling out to a small platform twice before evening out into the lower half of the school.

This half was much darker, and smelled more of death and mildew. It gave him an overwhelming sense of dread and panic as he entered into the desolate halls. He felt as if he didn't belong there, down in the darkness with the stench of decay and lingering feelings of being watched. He indeed felt as if no-one belonged down there. But, reguardless, he couldn't shake the feeling of someone being down there with him. And he was determined to find out who.

He recalled his mindset before he rode out that morning. He wanted to escape the feelings of last night, The feelings of fear and panic. To find a fresh mindset today, and to never recall those feelings. The irony of this was palpable, and if he was a man who was swayed from his tormenting fear, he would have found it both miserable and amusing.

" _I got your six._ " a young girls voice suddenly said, causing his eyes to widen. He spun to his right, seeing something he never thought he'd see again. Something that stopped his heart and chilled his blood. A young girl, with long brown hair. Her skin was ghostly pale, and her clothing was ragged and worn. Sun bleached and stone washed. Everything about her, even the look in her eyes and her personality, read 'distressed.' But everything to him just read Jenny.

She looked at him. Straight into his eyes. She had no smile, no expression. No formal emotion what-so-ever. She just stared into his eyes, then nudged her head to the right, signaling for him to lead. _"Well?"_

He stuttered out a shaky breath, his gun lowering until he let it hang by one hand. He'd missed this. For so long, he had missed this feeling. These moments. Of no matter what decrepit pit they found themselves in, they were side by side. Shoulder to shoulder or back to back. Didn't matter the guns, or the training, or even the situation. It only mattered the company in which they dealt with it all. And Elias felt regret in that moment. Right then in there, he felt the regret of decade swell inside of him.

He reached out with his free hand, laying it on her cold cheek. She tilted her head lightly, neither leaning into nor away from his touch, but gazing at him curiously. As if he were some spectacle to bare witness too. But there wasn't even a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. They were cold, and dead. Barren of all existence that ever was or ever could have been. She was a muted husk of her former self, and for once...just one singular instance. Elias was happy she wasn't here.

For he realized, it wasn't her eyes he was looking into. It was his own. A mirror image of himself, reflected from within her.

A sudden scream of a name shattered Elias ill-timed trance, causing him to look down the hall into the darkness. He half thought it was some horrid creature, having spotted the light of his pipboy and came to claim it's kill. But it screamed again, and this time he registered it all. _"WILLIAM!"_ a woman screamed in the distance, caused by three quick gunshots from a small caliber hand-gun.

Elias looked back at Jenny, and discovered that she was no-where to be seen. He did a quick and full turn around, checking to see if she had ducked behind him and he had just missed her. But no. She was gone. But not even that, as gone is a way to describe something that has left. He knew deep down that his mind, the darkness, and his impending mental collapse had all summoned the specter. She wasn't even there to begin with.

More gunfire from down the hall, more screaming. Two men shouting. The sounds of struggle. Elias gripped his gun in one hand, and made a fist with the other. His knuckles turned white from the pressure. Swallowing hard, he let out a deep breath. ' _This will not end well...'_ he said to himself in a voice that sounded as broken as the tile flooring he stood on.

He shook his head and exhaled like a man does when he's fighting back the feelings of illness in his stomach. "It never does." he answered himself, swinging the shotgun up and letting his other hand catch it. "It never does..."

 _"JESUS CHRIST!"_ One man, Derek, shouted as watched the body of one of the creatures hit the ground inches in-front of him. He desperately attempted to reload the hunting rifle, his hands shaking and bullets fumbling into the chamber. Soon, he just gave up on it, laying it in the bag and grabbing a 10mm sub-machine-gun. The woman next to him, Nikki, had her 9mm raised and was picking them off in succession. But you shoot one, and are lucky enough to kill it, two more take it's place.

Ghouls. And not the normal kind either, not the singular rotters you find easy to kill. A pack of roamers. They were faster then the others, smarter. They had a wolf-pack like mentality, but human like logic. Stalking, ambushing, distracting. Swarming. These were all things that these three scavengers were facing right here and now.

Derek, Nikki and Will were scavengers from Rolinsville. Nikki and William had been married for three months now, and Will would tell you it has been the best three damned months of his life. He's tall, slim, and with short blonde hair that right now had blood all in it. From a scratch on the back of his head, and from the ghouls who charged him.

Nikki was shorter, and slimmer, but was an eagle eye shot. Her brown hair was pulled back in a long braid that stretched down to the middle of her back. She had freckles that dotted her pale skinned face, and dark green eyes. She was a cute little thing, even in this panicked situation. She wore mostly all denim that was splattered in dark blood now, and a cross dangled from around her neck. A wedding gift from her father.

Derek was a friend to both of them, and jealous of their relationship. But was a friend all the same. More stocky then both of them, his shoulders were more broad, his facial features stronger, and his muscles more toned. His black hair was shaved down to bristles, and sweat drenched his tank-top as he continued to swing the machete in his right hand and occasionally raise the 10mm sub-machine-gun to fire off a three rounds.

They'd heard low whispering rumors that his place had been unclaimed. Meaning the cafeteria was stocked with food, and the nurses office with medicine. And perhaps it was, but they wouldn't have known. They hadn't even made it to either location before getting ambushed in the gym they now held their last stand in. They truly doubted any soul had made it to the nurses office, or cafeteria. Perhaps that is why it had stayed stocked for so long.

The gymnasium was dark, the only light came from the muted lamp lights they had carried in with them. Gunfire lit up most of the room, showing how decayed it was. The place seemed set up for a child's play, as their was a stage directly behind him. Wood paneling lined the bottom of it, but it had been chipped and weathered away. Just like the once-polished wood flooring under their feet.

The ghouls they fought; varying in build and skin color, ranging from light grey's to dark slimy browns, poured into the room from all directions. It was impossible to cover them all. From the ceiling, the floor, the walls. They seemed to materialize from every shadowy crack, no matter how big or small.

Derek began to see red from the rage of fighting the ghouls off of him. Swinging of his machete became wider and harder. Bursts from the 10mm SMG became longer and more spread-out. His vision narrowed and became grainy and dark as the blood rushed to his head.

Time seemed a bit slower for him. His heart beat hard and fast inside of his chest, pumping blood rapidly through his veins. He was in a state of adrenaline. In a kill-frenzy. Each swing of the machete connected with one of the ravenous ghouls, hacking off a limb or splitting open a head. The blade felt weightless in his rage-educed outburst. He was determined to live through this. Determined to get Nikki through this.

The situation was grim. The tide of ghouls couldn't be held back, as the creatures appeared to be endless. They had heard of this type of event. The wasters called it a hive. Hundreds of ghouls, a swarm from the crypts, leave home to seek food else-where. The zombified horror's wouldn't stop until the last ghoul dropped, or they got their prey. And the three didn't bring enough ammo for a hive.

William fought wisely, choosing his targets and taking them out with a burst of fire from the assault rifle. His clip was running empty, and the bag of ammo was on the stage behind Nikki. Who was a few feet behind himself. He knew Derek was somewhere around him as he could hear his grunting from swinging the machete. _"WE NEED A WAY OUT! NOW!"_ William shouted over his shoulder at Nikki and where he assumed Derek to be.

Nikki desperately looked around, but found no alternative exit besides the door behind the stage, and the one in-front of them. The one with an ocean of ghouls between them and it. She knew the best option was behind the stage, but they'd seen a map. That door lead further into the school, and she hadn't memorized enough of it to ever recall which way let out. And it would be divine intervention that they chose an exit not blocked with debris or sand. Or an army of ghouls.

 _"You can do this..."_ William told himself as he backed up, laying on another three burst shot at a ghoul charging for him with it's arms out-stretched, jaws open and ready to taste warm flesh. The three round burst tore through the creatures head, sending it falling onto it's back. _"You're a leader, you can do this..."_

He turned to run back to the stage to see Derek, swinging wildly at two ghouls who decided to team up on him. He slashed one's head clear off it's shoulders, the one on his left lost half it's head immediately after. Before William could do or say anything to help Derek, he had swung around in a flurry and a war-cry.

The machete cleaved into William's chest, causing his eyes to go wide. He felt nothing, no pain, no fear, no sorrow. The blade had torn through Will like paper, and cut into his heart. His eyes dilated, and blood rolled down his body, wetting his clothes and turning them a muted red. A bit of it poured from his mouth as his head fell forward. Body going limp and knees buckled, he collapsed, falling off the blade.

Derek, still holding the blood soaked blade, watched his former best-friend fall to the ground. Blood immediately began to pool around William, as Derek looked down at him, The blood lust in his eyes would not cease. He truly felt no remorse or pain for what he had done. There was nothing there but a cold, heartless gaze. _"I'm sorry, Will."_ He thought to himself as he stepped away, watching the ghouls swarm in and tear into him. He was dragged away with a swarm, their hands tearing into his flesh and intestines, blood coating their arms and faces as they devoured hand-fulls of human meat. _"You're our way out."_

Derek turned and sprinted towards Nikki, who was turned around and oblivious to the whole dealing. She shooting at three ghouls who were running at her from the stage. Derek raised his SMG and emptied the remainder of his clip into them, mowing them down without second thought.

Nikki turned and saw Derek who was hastily gathering their things up. "Come on," he proclaimed in a rushed and desperate tone. "we gotta move!"

Fear swept across her when she saw William was nowhere near him. "Where's Will?" She asked looking around in desperation. She saw the horde gathered in the corner of the room, tearing into something. And right in that moment, she knew...and her heart sank.

"Oh god..." she muttered, raising her hands to cover her mouth as her eyes teared up. "oh god, please no."

Derek looked at the feeding frenzy, and wondered if she knew. Wondered if she'd ever know. "Fuck...FUCK!" He shouted for an act, as if surprised to see the ghouls feeding. He had to make it convincing, or she may get suspicious. So he turned to her, planning to take her by the shoulders and look her in the eye, tell her that he was so sorry and that they had to leave immediately.

He tuned towards her, but before he could even take her shoulders, something hit him. From the left side. A ghoul had ran across the stage and leaped off, grabbing Derek's shirt by the chest and by his arm, pulling him down as it landed. It bit into his shoulder, tearing at flesh and mussel and causing him to howl in agony as blood sprayed on his face and on the ghouls face. He grabbed his machete off the ground as the ghoul pulled it's head back, ripping a large chunk out of his shoulder and neck.

He thrust the blade over his shoulder, stabbing the ghoul through the left eye. The blade sunk into it's skull, killing it instantly. He tried to get to his feet, and Nikki was about to rush and help him, when suddenly he was hit again. This time from the front. He had gotten almost all the way up, slipping on his blood that was pooling on the ground as it ran down his arm, literally coating it in red and dripping rapidly from his finger-tips.

He was hit from the front by two ghouls, one nearly tackling him from the waist, and the other grabbing him by the arm and wounded shoulder. They drug him backwards a bit, slamming him into the wall. He lost his machete upon the initial blow, and was now helpless. He could only scream in pain as they bit into him. One attacking his arm, ripping chunks out of it. And the other biting into his cheek, causing blood to spray on it's face as well as Derek's.

 _"NO!_ " Nikki screamed in panic, grabbing up her 9mm once more and taking aim. She got two shots off, killing the one. She swung the gun over, ready to pick off the one that was tearing into Derek's neck. She squeezed the trigger, only to have nothing happen. She looked panicked at her gun for a moment, then realized the receiver was all the way back on it. Out of ammo.

 _"SHIT!"_ she screamed in panic as Derek howled in pain. Nikki knew it could already be to late to reload that gun, but she had to try. Just like William had taught her...she didn't want to think about him now. They'd swarmed his corpse in a frenzy, and now Derek would be next.

Derek swung with a left punch, hitting the feral in the face and knocking it's head against the concrete wall he was pressed against. The creature tore off from his neck , ripping skin and muscle with it. Blood gushed out of the wound, and he could feel it running down his arm. The pain was so excruciating that his body felt numb now. Head swirling with pain, dizzy from blood loss. That thing had a mouth-full of his flesh, and was looking to tear into some more.

Suddenly, a shot was fired. The ghoul's brains flew out of it's head in a messy up-hurl of slimy chunks and blood. It splattered the wall next to Derek, causing him to jump back and stumble over the other dead ghoul. He fell flat on his back, bouncing his head on the wooden floor.

A raspy howl from dead ahead of her. She turned her head to see what used to be a woman running towards her, ready to tackle her to the ground and tear into her. She swung the gun towards the ghoul, her body turning with it and arms partially out-stretched. Her heart was beating in her ears, to the point where all the raspy screams and moans couldn't be heard. Just the constant, frantic rhythm of her heart.

 _Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud._

Cold hands suddenly grabbed her arm. She could feel the cold, leathery flesh on hers. Weight suddenly shoved against her, causing her finger to slam against the trigger and mis-fire the gun. The bullet sped forward and tore threw the shoulder of the charging ghoul. It recoiled to the left with the shot, and fell onto it's back.

Nikki was being pushed to the right. She barely had time to realize what had happened. And by the time she did, events had been set in motion that she could no longer control. She was being torn down with this ghoul, and knew that it'd have the upper hand once down.

But to her complete surprise, as she begun to lose her footing and fall, something else entered her frame of vision. A bloody Derek had managed to see what was happening and get to his feet. He'd charged forward, lowered his shoulder, and slammed it into the ghoul's chest and throat.

The ghoul was torn off of Nikki, who soon after completed her fall to the ground. Hitting said ground knocked her senses around, and the gun from her hand. Derek, however, used his last fragile bit of life saving energy to do something he knew he had no choice in doing. William was in his way, but now Nikki stood in the path of danger. If this was the way it had to be, he had no problem dying to save her life.

He'd managed to grab the machete up off the ground as he charged. So with the blade in hand, he got to his knees and severed the head from the rotten fiends shoulders. Nikki, weary and blurry visioned, looked up from the ground to see Derek get to his feet and start swinging like a mad man. He too was weak, and his sloppy swinging showed that.

It didn't take long for him to find his way to the edge of the horde that was gathered around William's body. But it wasn't by his choice. He too was surrounded, and his weak swinging was doing nothing to stop the feral's. They took turns swiping at him when he missed, clawing into his skin.

He'd growl and howl in pain when they did. But soon they got tired of batting their food around like a cat with a mouse. Soon they all moved in on him at once, hands grabbing hold of his flesh and pulling. Pushing. Tearing their way down. He screamed so loud as they tore into him. He screamed like something you'd hear echo out of the bowls of hell. And soon after, as chunks of flesh were pulled and bit off his body, his screams were silenced. A ghoul tore into his throat with it's teeth, and another grabbed his jaw and pulled it clean off of his skull. Nothing but the sounds of choking on blood.

Nothing he could do. By the time Elias had gotten to the door, the screaming suddenly ceased. He saw the swarm, the hive, of ghouls that had massed around two bodies. Maybe three, he thought hopelessly.

But he quickly surveyed the room and spotted something. A woman, lying collapsed on the ground with her gun not far from her hand and a legless ghoul crawling it's way towards her. It's stubs trailed dark blood behind it as it pulled it's way up to her. It reached out with a raspy groan, fingers mere centimeters away from her nose.

It was like a dream to her. Or a waking nightmare. Like when you sleep light enough that the events happening right at that moment infect the dream. For her, it was seeing William in the beautiful sunlight. Seeing him smile and look away, a dimple in his cheek.

But suddenly, her peaceful memory of a dream was shattered. The raspy groan echoed into it, then a thunderous shot filled the room. It was like a cannon had gone off indoors. Elias had fired the shotgun, blowing the ghouls back open and killing it instantly.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open to see a man in black running for her. She was sure that it was death, coming to collect her soul for whatever afterlife awaited her. But to her sheer surprise, the man reached down with one hand and grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her up to her rear and waking her from the daze. "GET UP!" he demanded to her, screaming over the gnawing and devouring of the ferals. "GRAB YOUR GUN, AND FOLLOW ME!"

Her head was still spinning, but she knew this was her once and only chance. She dashed forward an swiped the gun off of the floor. Looking back she saw the tall broad man in black grabbing their duffel bag up and putting it around his shoulder with another one. He looked to her and nudged his head towards his left-her right-and sprinted that way. His shotgun in both hands.

She scurried forward and quickly ran after him. He raised a leg and kicked open a locked metal door, the proceeding bang being about as loud as the gunshot. He pressed his back to it and held it open, allowing her to sprint through the doorway. He made sure the door slammed closed behind her, and raced to catch up.

They were now in a dark concrete hallway that had pipes lining the wall. A maintenance hallway most likely, which would explain why they were running down steps every few feet. She slowed, allowing Elias to catch up and soon after lead the way. The light on his pipboy illuminating the walls around them and moving erratically with each movement of his arm. "What's your name?" He asked glancing back to her.

" _Nikki_." She replied in a broken whimper, the full effect of what had just happened dawning on her. She slowed to a near stop, tears that formed in her eyes sliding down her dirty cheeks. Elias glance back then stopped as well, seeing her paused in the hallway. He turned around and approached her, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He walked forward, pulling her with him. "I know it hurts," Elias said, looking around the corner into a storage closet, but finding only broken shelves and a skeleton who laid on the ground with a bottle of open anti-freeze next to him. "but we have to keep moving, Nikki. Can you do that for me?"

She sniffled and reached up, using her sleeve to wipe away tears. She pushed the dark thoughts out of her mind, then nodded in agreement. _"Yeah..._ " she whispered in a breathy tone "I can do that."

"Okay, have you been here before?" Elias asked, quickly glancing back at her. She shook her head no and swallowed hard. "These maintenance tunnels are probably going to lead us to a boiler room. Or at the very least a utility room that may have a small window for us to climb out of. But I'm going to need you to stay _on. My. Ass._ You got that?"

She once again nodded her head in agreement, glancing over her shoulder to see if their were any of the feral's behind them. She saw only the discomforting sight of darkness. She turned back to Elias who immediately said "Come on, let's move." and picked up the pace.

"I've got a Strider outside." Elias said to her as they ran down the seemingly never ending dark hallway. "We're going to get it to it and book it back to Providence Spring. You can stay there for as long as you want to, and then I can take you home."

She swallowed hard, pushing down her emotions to silently say "I don't have a home anymore..."

He glanced back at her, then kept his eyes on the darkness ahead. "Then I'll find you a place to stay with us. I'll help you though this because I know what it's like to lose everything and everyone."

The sincerity in his voice connected with her, and she knew that even if he was a stranger he knew the pain. Perhaps even more then she did. But maybe he could teach her to cope. Maybe this was god cushioning the blow life had dealt her. It was all to raw for her to tell right now. All she knew is, they had to make it out.

Suddenly the hallway opened up into a large rectangular room. The entire right side of the room was lined with boilers and other pre-war devices Elias couldn't recall the name of. He internally hoped that this was indeed the halfway mark for their exit. He could hear Nikki sniffle behind him, causing him to quickly glance back and say "You're gonna be just fine."

He turned his head around to face forward, but as soon as he did so he faced eye to eye with a feral who's arm was raised back for a swing at him. Elias gasped and raised the shotgun, blocking the blow with it. But it knocked him back into Nikki, pushing her to the side as the Feral lunged forward, arms outstretched. Elias shoved the gun forward, catching the ghoul under the arm arms with it and holding it back.

It's jaws were snapping, and hands trying to tear at Elias' face and throat, along with it's full body-weight pushing into him. Elias pulled his head back away from the creatures hands, and grunted in discomfort from the position. " _NIKKI!_ " He shouted, looking back for her.

He looked back to see she already had her gun raised, one eye closed and was aiming down the sights at the feral. She got it's head lined up, took a deep breath, and squeezed. The gunshot was loud and echoing, and the bullet tore the top right side of the ghouls head off. It flew backwards onto the ground in a shower of blood and brain.

Elias stumbled backwards, staring at the dead ghoul. Neither one of them saw a pair of rotten hands reach out from under one of the machines. They had no way of knowing there was an open vent behind those machines. But the ferals knew. They knew exactly where Elias and Nikki were.

The hands latched onto Nikki's ankles and pulled back, causing her to let out a momentary and quick scream before she slammed into the concrete ground. No doubt breaking a few ribs. Elias looked back to see the now bloody faced girl in a daze. She looked at Elias in panic and managed a small scream and she was pulled back.

"No, _NO!_ " he shouted and lunged for her, diving to the ground and grabbing her hands as she was pulled under the machines. Elias slammed into one of them and growled in pain as he pulled her forward as hard as he could. " _HOLD ON! JUST HOLD ON!_ "

"I'M SLIPPING!" She screamed half in pain as the ghouls clawed at her ankles and calf's. She looked into Elias' eyes with panic, hearing the raspy howling of the pack as they charged down the hallway for him. She knew, right at that moment she knew. She was already dead.

Her life was taken from her the moment she lost William, and she knew that too. They'd married young, but had a life awaiting them. A life that would never be. But now, there'd be no fear of the wasteland and it's horrors. She'd be with him, and her brother and uncle in heaven. That's what her parents had taught her, and that's what she honestly truly believed.

There was no saving her, no matter how hard this kind-hearted stranger tried. She could see just as much fear in his eyes, but determination as he pulled as hard as he could. She let go with one hand and reached up to her neck, grasping a golden cross and chain, and tearing it off of her neck. She slapped it into his hand and gripped it one last time. It was a deceleration in all things. To find peace. To find love. To learn to live with it. To never forget her name and face.

It dawned on Elias. Just mere seconds before he felt her torn from his hands, and saw her pulled into the darkness. The cross dangled from the golden chain that was intertwined with his fingers, and he laid there staring motionless and shocked into the darkness. She was gone...

The howling and the screaming and stampeding of the ghouls became apparent for the first time, and Elias snapped back into it. He pushed himself up and stuffed the cross into his pocket, grabbing back up the shotgun and the duffel bag's, skipping backwards-occasionally glancing back to see if anything was behind him- and aiming the gun straight ahead.

He fired once, the flash of the gun lighting up the dark halls and illuminating a few ghouls that were pouring towards him. The shadows of many more on the wall. He fired again, this time a few more were in the flash, and he even saw one falling.

He fired again, now their numbers in the twenties and more pouring into view. And again, this time in the forties as they pushed into one another to try to get to him. They were close now. Too close.

He rapid fired the shotgun, one shot after another until he'd fired five in a row. Each shot flashing, showing a growing horde before him and blood spraying as a few fell. He pulled the trigger again, only to have it dry fire. Now he had no choice.

Turning on his boot heels, he spun around and ran into the darkness, the horde climbing over their dead to chase after him. He held onto the shotgun, gripping it and running faster, like it was going to save him. He didn't know how long these damned tunnels were, but he knew they eventually had to end.

And sure enough, a moment of running through the darkness, Elias heard the low hum of a generator running on an old fusion core. He ran through the doorway of the utility room in which the generator was sitting in the corner of the room. Broken down metal shelves were rowed to his right.

In an act of desperation, he grabbed one of the shelves and pulled it towards him, then pushed it towards the door. The edge of it slammed into the doorway, blocking off the entrance. He could hear that the ghouls were in hot pursuit.

There was no time to waste, and he knew it. He thought about it seconds before turning around and running to the elevator, hitting the dirty button that light up green. He heard the hum of the elevator descending to the basement.

Turning the shotgun over, Elias fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of shells. His hands were shaking as he loaded them into the gun. The sound of the screaming ghouls grew louder, overwhelming the sound of the elevator. They'd slam into that shelf blocking the way and flood into the room. A grenade wouldn't be able to clear them all.

Elias pumped the shotgun, then loaded the last shell into it. He turned it back over, then pressed the stock to his shoulder and took aim. Breathing heavy and fast, his vision was focused on the doorway in-front of him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the humming Elevator stopped. He looked to his right as the doors squealed open, and saw a frightening sight. One that made his eyes widen in horror.

The elevator that had descended was filled with half eaten corpses and gnawed bones. And in the middle, with it's back turned to Elias, crouched a feral. Holding a rotten arm in it's bony hands and tearing the flesh from it with it's rotten teeth.

The screaming, the piercing howling of those ghouls finally reached a peak as they came around the corner. They were now in view in the dim light, and Elias knew it was time to go. He charged right, nearly slipping on the rotten flesh of mutilated bodies. The feral turned it's head, face half melted and bloody, slimy meat hanging from it's mouth. Elias raised his boot and kicked the ghoul square in the face, knocking it against the wall and down.

He quickly hit the button on the elevator, sending it on a path upwards. As the doors closed, he could hear the ghouls slam into the shelf and send it sliding across the floor. They no doubt clamored over one another, pilling into the room until it was filled.

The ghoul in the elevator with him quickly climbed to it's legs, then lunged forward. Elias kicked forward again, kicking it's soft stomach and knocking it back against the wall again. The elevator shook with the commotion, causing Elias to fear it would fall and send him back to the bowels of hell.

Elias dashed forward before the Ghoul could recover, and bashed it in the head with the side of the shotgun's stock. It fell to the ground on it's stomach and face, but wasn't out yet. Elias now had a vendetta against these freaks, and wanted to make this one personal.

He lowered the gun and raised his leg, reaching into his boot and pulling out the Bowie knife. He then brought his knee down onto the feral's lower back, pinning it against the dead bodies. Dropping the gun and letting the straps of the duffel bags fall from his shoulder and down his arm, he pressed his other hand against the back of the ghouls head, shoving it's face down into the rotten bodies.

With a furious scream he viciously plunged the knife down into the ghouls back. Twisted. Then ripped it out. Dark blood sprayed against his arm and the wall upon the tear out. He stabbed down again, then again, over and over until he was tearing chunks out of it's back with the exit of the knife. The blood splattered his face, he could feel it. It wasn't even warm anymore. A luke-warm at best. But he kept stabbing, and stabbing. The bile essence bubbling up from the cavity in the feral's back.

He was breathing heavy and through his teeth. A raged look on his face, a snarl and a gleam of hate in his eye. The haze of pain and anger cleared, and he found himself staring down at the mutilated corpse of the ghoul. His hand covered in dark blood. Face, chest and arm splattered with it. His temper calmed, and he slid the blade out of the ghouls back, then back into the sheath in his boot.

The elevator buzzed, then the doors slipped open, revealing a emotionless looking Elias. Traumatized in a way. The bags were back on his shoulder, and the shotgun back in his hands. He raised it and carefully moved forward.

The more he moved forward, the more he saw. And the more he saw, the more his nightmare was realized. The hallway was black, and along the floor and each wall was filth. Grime. Bodies, rotting and decayed. Broken bones. Feral shit. It was a trench of nightmares that Elias knew all too well.

He wanted to gag at the smell, but knew if anything were in this hallway they'd hear it. He just kept the gun raised and steadily moved down the hall, cautious as ever. The first classroom was on his left, and he slowly made his way towards it. The door was open and the filth poured inside. The ghouls had been in every inch of this place, he was sure.

He cautiously peered into the classroom, his heart sinking just a little further as his eyes beheld a sight he was honestly surprised he hadn't seen earlier A classroom of little skeletons. Some under their desks, some just lying on the floor, some still sitting at their desks or laid across them. He wondered if they were the original students, or if some poor colony had set up here once. It would explain the ghouls. But then again, where there's a lot of bodies, there will be a lot of feral's. The Crypt's were a testament to that.

His stomach turned, and he moved away from the classroom. Worked his way up to the next one, on the right. Then peered into it as well. He find only more of the same, a room filled with filth and small skeleton's. This one even had an adult skeleton sitting at the teacher's table.

Each room was the same picture as the last, a sad reminder of a future lost to the past. Much like himself. He found himself becoming desperate, wanting out of this nightmare. But it felt never ending to him at the same time. But upon realizing the hallway leading to the main-hall was empty, his emotions caught up with him.

He stopped near some lockers, his heart suddenly racing and catching in his throat. He swallowed hard and let the shotgun hang by one hand. He reached up with his free hand and took off his hat, turning to his right and leaning against the lockers with his arm. The feeling of failure seeping into his very soul, causing him anguish that he wish he could say he never knew.

That girl suffered before she died, in more ways then just physically. She lost her man, then her best friend. She had a taste of what Elias had been subjected to, and then had her life robbed from her. And Elias was too slow to stop it. He closed his eyes tight and gripped the hat in his hand.

He'd failed another.

This pain was fresh and had energy to it. Energy that made him lash out, and slam his fist into the locker. The bang echoed through the hall, interrupting the seemingly calm silence that had engulfed the upper floor.

He wished he knew silence, but he didn't. Inside his head and chest was nothing but screaming and fire. It burned inside of him, and he wanted to claw open his chest to extinguish the flame. But he'd have to do that when he was back in Prosperous. For now, he had the ride back to deal with.

The sun was setting, and Alison found herself staring out the window in the kitchen at it. Like it would hold some truth, some hidden fact that was veiled to her eyes. But she only found the bloody orange sky making her feel more uncomfortable. It didn't feel like it was sunny outside. But instead like it was dark, and cloudy. Like there was a type of misery to the day that she couldn't escape.

She wasn't one to care so easily. The people in her life were there for a reason. New-comers didn't belong or stay, and she made that known to them. This was her town and it followed her rules, sure. But the people she couldn't control; Carter, Vince, Doc Whethers, and Sam, she loved them. And loathed them for making her feel that.

More people to worry about was a burden. Elias coming into her life...she felt as if it should be taken as a burden. A man with such a heavy heart, threatening to be the straw that broke the camels back. A bad omen, carried in by rogue winds, here to stir up and cause trouble. Seemed liked with each step he took, the world around him was engulfed in flames and madness.

But yet, even actively trying to despise him as she was now, something stirred within her. Something turbulent. It made her heart race, and her thoughts scattered. She hated it, and loved it. She needed to think clearly, to lead this town to succession. But her broken heart swooned.

The door opened, and her head raised. Screen door hinges cracking over the sound of the soft music which played in the back-ground. She was standing at the kitchen sink, still staring out the window. Waiting to hear the sound of footsteps, to tell who it was.

Heavy boot, with a slight metallic _ting_ to them. She smiled, her heart now surely racing. The door closed and latched into place, then a few more steps into the house. She spun around with a smirk, expecting to see Elias staring in at her. But she found something else entirely.

Even on his dark clothes, she could still see the blood. Her charming smile instantly faded when she saw the man in black standing in the doorway, turned to his side and head bowed. Two bags hung from his shoulder, and his fist clenched something tightly in it.

 _"E-Elias...?"_ she spoke softly, taking a careful step forward and tilting her head to try to see his face. She saw it was dirt covered, sweat glistened on his brow and blood splattered on his neck and cheeks. He turned his head ever so slightly towards her, then back to the bedroom.

His shaking fist opened, and from it a bloody cross dangled down. The chain wrapped around his wrist and woven between his fingers. His blode ran down it from having gripped it so hard. And after that, his tense broad shoulders slumped, causing the two bags to fall from them and crash to the floor.

Her fingertips brushed gently across the back of his hand. An action that would normally chill him, but did nothing this time. She moved in-front of him and spoke softly as she reached up and laid her hand on his bristle covered cheek. _"Hey, let me look at you..."_ his head gently raised, her hand staying in place and sliding down his cheek until it rested on his jaw.

His eyes were dark and puffy, making his paled skin all the more noticeable. There was dirt smudged on his cheeks and forehead, and small droplets of blood on his jaw, cheeks and neck. But clear trails had been cut through the dirt and grime, leading down from his eyes. His still watery eyes. _"Elias..."_ she said softly to get his attention, causing him to look at her. _"what happened...?"_

A flash of the girl reaching out for him as she was drug into the darkness went through his mind. His brow slowly and gently wrinkled, and he frowned slightly with it as Alison watched a tear slide from his eye. _"I...I couldn't save her...she was in my hands but they had her legs...she put this cross in my hand-."_ he clutched the chain tight, causing Alison to glance down at it then back up into his eyes _"-and they took her...they tore her from my...my..."_

Alison reached up, knocking his hat off and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled his head down to her shoulder, one hand resting on his neck and the other sliding up through his hair. She nestled his head into her neck and gently petted his hair, as he slid his arms around her and sobbed out, clutching her tight. _"Shhh, shhh...I've got you...it's alright."_ she whispered to him.

 _"I had her..."_ he breathlessly whispered against the soft skin of her neck, his eyes closing tight as emotional pain racked his body. _"I could of...I could of saved her..."_

"No..." Alison lightly but surely spoke. "you did all you could, Elias. You did all you could. But the moment she stepped foot in that building, she was gone...it's not your fault."

 _"I had her...she looked me in the eyes...she trusted me...and then she was gone. Her...her name was Nikki..."_

Alison held him tighter, closing her eyes and laying the side of her face against his head. He trembled slightly in her arms. She could feel it resonate through her. She could feel his silent sobs of breath come out onto her skin.

She held him in her arms, and comforted him the best she could. The best that a broken hearted woman could comfort a broken hearted man.


	17. Chapter 17 Providence 'n Nightmare

Avery reached out and knocked on Alison's front door three times, tacking step back until he stood on the last step before the porch. The distant rumble of thunder caused him to look up at the melancholy grey clouds that had filled the sky. A storm was brewing.

He looked back at the front door with a raised brow of anticipation as he heard the door handle twist. Alison pulled open the front door and gazed out of the screen. She give a small smile and opened the screen, seeing Avery more clearly. The door whined as it opened.

"Good mornin' to ya." Avery said with a smile, ringing a red bandanna in his hands.

Alison glanced up at the sky and back down at Avery. "Doesn't seem like it'll be a good one, but morning all the same. Is there something you needed, Avery?"

He shrugged softly and stepped carefully up onto the wooden porch. "Just wondering where you wanted me today. If I need to...you know, fill in for Elias?"

Alison glanced back over her shoulder into the house, then back at Avery as she leaned on the frame of the doorway. "Avery...we've _talked_ about this."

"It's been _Three. Days._ People need him and-."

"And nothing." She cut him off with no small amount of attitude. "He needs the rest, and people needing his help to save cat's in trees are going to have to just wait. Besides, you ain't his shoe size."

"No, I'm not. No one can stand in the position The Lone-Star Ranger."

She paused and looked at him curiously, her eyes squinting slightly and her brow wrinkling. "I'm not an idiot." Avery replied to her after she shot him the look. "A man in black, faster then sin at a brothel when it comes to a gun, carries two silver revolvers. Past he won't talk about. Like he was a ghost."

"You won't tell anyone." She demanded of him.

He scoffed. "I won't tell anyone who doesn't already know." Her brow flattened and she closed her eyes for a minuet, sighing. "People gossip, figure shit out. They also think you're sleeping together, if you were wondering."

"I bet they do." she mumbled, staring at the ground of the porch.

"Look," Avery step forward again, holding a hand out and moving it as he talked. "I'm not Elias, no man or woman in this town can claim to be half as fast or a shot. I don't pretend to know him, or you, and you'd both be fools to pretend to know me. I've had education and training-rare things in this world. Add that to life time of training and I'm as good of a replacement as you're going to get. Whatever's plaguing Elias, it's not going away any time soon. And I can help when he's down."

She shook her head softly as she stared off at the ground. "That is not the way this works." Avery raised his head, looking at the cloudy sky before closing his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

He threw his head back forward with a gleam of frustration setting bright in his eyes. "You need to understand some, mayor." he started up with a slight snarl. "This town is falling apart. Without you to lead it and Elias to protect it, it's buckling in on it's self. People have problems that they can NOT solve by themselves.

There's two caravan's offering to trade with us, and another one from Rollinsville. Sam's cat house has had five bar-fights, five. The doc is running out of supplies that those caravan's may or may not have. And the icing on the shit cake; a missing person. Female, teenagers."

They argued. Not like children arguing over toy cars in a sand box, but like adults. Both with that kinda tone that suggested only the truth; that something needed to be done, but it was a complicated matter of what.

Avery wasn't wrong to be worried for this town. In the short few days that Alison had become a recluse trying to tend to Elias, the whole place had fallen into the dirt. But the knowledge of how worse for ware Elias was clouded her mind. She knew the town needed help, but she knew Elias needed it more. That the entire Lone Star Wasteland needed it.

"Your back and forth continuous cycle of never ending shit as officially began to descend down hill, Alison." Avery snapped at her, becoming overly fed-up with seeing everything happen around him. "I'm going to ask you one last time, because none of us can afford for me to wait to ask later. Give me official sanction to act as your Peace Keeper and help these people, before they drowned in their own problems."

Alison looked up and over at Avery. First time she'd really given him a solid look that wasn't anger or distrust. And looking into his eyes, she saw fear. Perhaps it was fear for her, for Elias. Perhaps it was for himself. Or perhaps he was really as noble as his intentions claimed, and he truly feared for this town.

But what did Avery see when he looked into her eyes? That she was pale, and her eyes were dark. Just like the last time he had seen Elias. But her physical symptoms were more caused by being physically tired and stressing about Elias all day. Elias' were more of a mental melt-down in the process. If he hadn't already hit his peek.

She blinked slowly. Lethargically. When her eyes opened, they searched and found Avery's once more. "No."

Her answer was simple, blunt. It crushed something within Avery. The hope that maybe he could resolve this without taking matters into his own hands, perhaps. He wanted to leave this life behind, to find what he was searching for. And maybe he was a fool for believing that he could find it without getting his hands dirty. But he did believe it. Right up until this point.

 _"Fine."_ he growled through his teeth at her. "To hell with you and your goddamned rules. I'll do it myself, and if you try to stop me...don't." He turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets and storming off down the hill towards the grey and overcast sky.

Alison didn't have the energy to retort, she'd wasted it with the argument. Now she felt heavy and drained. She closed the door, and retreated back to her bedroom. She closed the door, and looked over at Elias' two silver .357's on her dresser. She'd taken them from him, just in case.

He knocked heavily three times on the faded green door. Waiting a moment, he took a step back and analyzed the house. It was a building made of scrap-metal, and was dented, rusted and warped from years of basking in the elements. It was tucked up against the western most wall, along with several more buildings, and another row directly behind him. This one, though, held great interest to him.

Avery could see a faint orange glow from inside the building. An oil lamp, most likely. Quick and heavy footsteps rushed to the door mere moments after he knocked. The handle twisted and the door flung open, a large burly man now stood in the dark doorway.

Faded red flannel shirt, tucked into his dark blue jeans. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His light brown hair was slicked back, and he had a full beard that suited his husky demeanor. Avery could see the expression of hope fade in his blue eyes, and worry set in. "Can I help you?"

Avery shook his head gently. "No sir. But as matter of fact, I was wondering if I could help you."

The husky man carefully analyzed Avery, scanning over every inch of him. His large hand reached out, and Avery grasped it, shaking it as the large man said "Gregory Hill."

"Avery Malcolm." Gregory's hand was rough and his grip was tight. Working man's hands, worked for ever damned thing he owned. Worked hard to keep it too. "Pleasure."

Gregory's expression turned mournful as his head bowed lightly and he spoke. "I don't suppose...you have information about my daughter?"

Avery noted the pain mixed with the glint of hope in his voice. It broke his heart, causing Avery to look down at the ground and draw in a deep breath. "I'm...afraid not. But I hope to have some soon, I just need to know a few things first."

Gregory looked over his shoulder into his house, seeming to check if there was someone behind him. He turned back around and nudged his head forward, causing Avery to take two steps back into the dirt street as Gregory stepped out of his home and closed the door behind him. His large arms crossed over his broad chest. "What do you need to know?"

Avery raised his head and addressed the man properly. "Everything. Tell me about your daughter, what she likes doing, who she knows and where she was last."

Gregory gave a nod. "Anna is...she's my everything. Me and Rachel wed young to get away from New Vegas together. And we tried for a kid two years after we finally settled down on a homestead." He paused mournfully, as if a sinking feeling had set in. The weight of it seeming to slump and buckle him. "Seven."

Avery turned his head slightly, not taking his eyes off of Gregory. "Seven...?"

"Miscarriages." Avery's expression flattened as his heart sunk further. "The first two..we thought we were doing it wrong. The next two we figured it couldn't keep happening. The next one was a painful haze, we had a fucking cemetery behind our house at that point. Rachel was beyond heart broken...the one after that was accident. Then finally we prayed about it, and sure enough...we were blessed with our little Anna."

Avery nodded. "Is Anna religious as well?"

He smiled softly and chuckled deep within his chest. "Yeah. We raised her the best we could, instilled the morals and steered her right..." He paused, his eyes becoming teary. "she's got her mothers looks." He chuckled this time, tightening his arms on his chest. "And her father's winning personality."

"Tell me about how she looks." Avery said, putting one hand into his pocket and taking out a small notepad and a pencil. He began to write down notes about Anna as Gregory went along.

"She's got long dirty blonde hair, a tad curly. She's got a fair face, soft cheeks and a small nose. Baby blue eyes. Small scar on her chin from when she showed all the boys in town she was tougher then them and jumped a creek-bed. Landed on her face, but she was damned proud.

Native Texan accent. Broad shoulders and hips. She's around five foot eight inches tall, give or take an inch. When I...last saw her. She was wearing a button up blue plaid shirt and an old pair of jeans with her cowboy boots. She was hanging out with her friends from Silver Ridge who were up with a caravan."

Avery wrote the last bit of information down and looked up at Gregory. "Is it possible she hopped in with the caravan?"

"No." Gregory sighed. "She wouldn't have done that, she's no that kind of girl. She always tells us when she's going out, always is back before sundown...my Anna wouldn't do such a thing."

Avery paused, not quite sure how to handle the situation. He wanted to ask himself 'what would Elias do?' but then he recalled Elias was the one who had left his town in such a miserable state, cooped up in the big house. It started to boil Avery's blood, and he had to keep his mind on the interview to avoid any more anger. "I hate to say it, Mr. Hill, but your daughter may not have had a choice in the matter. Have you sen anyone up there to look for her?"

"Can't." Gregory said in a blatantly obvious tone of worry. "Not without the mayor's say so. Towns got a load of caravan's just sitting in port waiting to sign off on their cargo or to leave with more."

Avery sighed and muttered _'Dammit Alison'_ under his breath as he looked up towards the mayor's house. "Then I reckon I'll ask around a little here then head for Silver Ridge." he looked back at Gregory who had a look in his eyes. A hard look of sudden destine for the powers that be.

He nodded slowly in agreement. "You do what you have ta' to bring my daughter back."

Avery finished one last note in his note pad then tucked it away in his pocket. Knowing that the mother was ill with grief and worry, and hadn't been speaking, he simply raised his hand once more. Gregory took it in his and shook it hard with a vice like grip. Avery figured if someone took his daughter, they'd be safer shot and or dead then in the working-man's-hands of Mr. Hill.

Avery's first stop in town was the whorehouse. He questioned each worker, all of whom said they'd either never met Anna or they hadn't seen her days prior to her disappearance. Apparently Mr. Hill didn't want his little jewel around such company. Most turned their nose up at the family, but some of the younger one's said Anna was always trying to talk to them. Whether to make friendly or for other reasons, they couldn't be certain.

He then turned to Sam herself, who tended behind the bar, watching and listening to Avery's every step and breath. Before he could even take a seat and ask her if she'd seen Anna, Same spoke first. "Anna Hill isn't welcome in here. She knows it, her father damn well knows and he makes sure that we both do. I've never seen someone get escorted away from me faster then papa Hill does Anna."

Avery wrinkled his brow. "Has he threatened you?"

She giggled and blew a red strand of hair out of her eyes. "Oh sure. But he's _'holier then the' type of fella'_ , so his threats mean about as much as a child's. He doesn't scare me, or my girls. Just an old man, set in his ways."

Avery grunted and looked over at Sam's workers, gathered around and whispering, giggling to each-other about how 'cute' the new detective was. "He guards Anna well, then?"

"Like a poor man guards a brick of gold." she leaned forward against the bar, showing off her copious amounts of cleavage that hung down in her loose T-shirt. Avery couldn't help but to notice the absence of a bra. He looked away and up into her eyes almost instantly. "Can't say I blame him. What, with all the raiders and psychopath's just roaming about. But come on, I'm just trying to make a living here. With what god gave me."

Avery nodded his head and Sam stood up straight, stretching her back out. "And I can't say I blame you. Your body, you do what you want with it. But I'm not here for that."

She giggled almost cutely. "I know, sugar. But I haven't seen young Anna, or spoken more then a 'howdy' to her before she was whisked away by a hissing couple."

Avery wrote down what he learned in his note-book. He was filling the pages, and it made him somewhat pleased. Pleased to be doing something worth a damn again.

Apparently Mr. Hill was the dominate force of the house, and kept Anna away from what he considered to be filth. Perhaps he even secluded her from the world. Kept her sheltered, and secretly fed the flames for her sense of adventure. Happens to all children.

His next stop was to the good doctor's clinic up near the hill. The inside of it smelled like medicine, a smell that Avery found comforting. His assistant, who was also Vic's daughter and worked at the diner, said she'd let the doc know he was here. Then disappeared around the corner into the hallway.

A moment later, the doctor came around the corner and smiled. "Howdy, Mr. Malcolm. What can I do ya for?"

"Sorry doc, didn't mean to pull you away from your work." Avery reached out and shook the old man's hand.

"Nah," he replied with the shake of his head as he took a seat on a waiting room bench. "just a check up with the lad who beat that poor girl."

Avery nodded with a smirk. "The one Elias beat the hell out of?"

"Yep. We, uhm...we haven't talked about that. Seeing his his jaw his wired and he won't be doing much talking for the next several months. But believe you me, I've given him a ear-full about how if he'd never laid a hand on that girl, this would never have happened. He deserved it, if I'm being honest."

Avery chuckled and crossed his arms, leaning back against the metal desk that had been set up for a checking-in procedure. "A little harsh, but then again he did have it coming. That's not what I came here for, though. I'm following up on a missing persons case, Anna Hill."

"Oh, yes, I heard about the Hill's misfortune. It's a shame, a real shame. But you should never keep your children so cloistered, so...chained. Eventually, with or without your key, they'll set themselves free. That's how a lot of Raider's crop up, or small gangs. Just kids tired of living by the rules, slowly slipping into this disgusting pit they can't get out of. Soon, they like it."

Avery wrote down another note with a wrinkled brow. "And this is what you think happened to Anna? That she ran away?"

"I believe so, yes, but I don't have any evidence to support that. All I can say is that I've been treating Anna for nearly all of her life. The Hill's arrived here not long after the town made a name for it's self, but I didn't formerly meet them until years later. They distrusted everyone, lived out in the barrens for so long it's like they forgot how to be civil. Anna moved here when she was four, I didn't meet her officially until she was seven. Though I did have a passing glance at her when her father escorted her around.

Anyway, all I can say is that Anna has always been curious about what she can't have. And by that, I mean what her father tells her she can't have. Always adventurous. Her father had to bring her in here when she climbed up a section of walling and fell off, fractured her arm. I had to wrap it and give her a low dosage pain medicine, but the next time I saw her and asked I they were working, she said _'Daddy threw them away'_. Good meds that man wasted."

Avery scribbled down another note and cleared his throat. "Odd that the man would do that. Did he distrust you so much?"

"He must of!" The good doctor said, all riled up. "I can't think of a reason why, and it's not like he's opened up any more over the years! Just keeps to himself in that house, petitions the Mayor every year to build a damned church like they grow on trees!"

Avery wrinkled his brow, a thought suddenly occurring in his mind. "What about the wife? I hear how strict the father is, but nothing about dearest mother."

The doc sighed and took his glasses of, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose and rubbing it. "Quiet as a church mouse. She's even more of a recluse then Mr. Hill is, and whether or not it's because of him I can't say. You see her out every now in then, wearing some old fashion garb with a head dress and all, perusing the market isles. Doesn't say anything to anyone, if you say hello she smiles and nods back at you, then pretends you ain't even there."

"Does he beat her?" Avery asked, feeling concern for her well being in his chest.

The doctor shrugged and put his glassed back on. "Can't say that either. She wears long sleeves, a high collar and a skirt. I couldn't see bruises on her of they were obvious or not. He's a very religious man, so I doubt he'd abuse his wife or daughter. He just...smothers them. And keeps them very isolated."

Suddenly the doctor's assistant came around the corner, hand leaning on the wall as she sighed. "Doc, your patient is getting antsy."

He looked at the girl. "You tell that yella' belly sumbitch to wait his gosh damned turn or I'll break the other side of his jaw!"

Avery broke out in a laughter, a broad smile sweeping across his face as he stood from the desk and uncrossed his arms. "I actually have all I need, but you've been a great help, doc. If there's ever anything you need, holler and I'll com'a runnin'." He reached his hand out and shook the doc's who said "Always a pleasure, Mr. Malcolm, always a pleasure." then departed.

Avery made his way to Vic's Diner, and before he even got to the door he could hear and smell and see that the place was hoppin'. The jukebox was blaring, the greasy smell of fried brahmin burgers was lingering in the air, and laughter could be heard from inside.

Avery pulled open the door and the sound of 'High-school Confidential' by Jerry Lee Lewis filled his ears. Kids in the back of the place near the jukebox danced like there was no tomorrow. And even Vic, who had a chefs hat on, an apron, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a spatula in his hand, was moving his hips and bobbing his head to the beat. It had been a good night for him, and it made Avery happy to see it.

Vic looked over at the ringing of the diner's door bell. "Eh-hey! Avery, buddy, it's good to see ya!"

Avery chuckled and took a seat at the bar. "Good to see you too, Vic." he reached out and quickly shook the man's hand before Vic went back and flipped his burgers. "What can I get ya, huh? Beer? Nuka Cola? Some grub, maybe?"

"Nah, not today Vic, but thank ya kindly. I'm actually here to ask you some questions. You see, I took up the Anna Hill case."

Vic pulled the cigarette from his lips and put it out in the glass ash-tray filled with butts on the counter. "Yeah, some kids told me about that. Hope you find her, Malcolm, I really do."

"Maybe you can help me." Avery replied, pulling out his note-pad. "What can you tell me about Anna?"

Vic put the last of the burgers on buns and put the tray on the counter. "ORDER UP! _Ya animals._ " he turned back to Avery and took his hat off, leaning forward against the counter. "Anna, she uh...she was a lonely, lonely heart. You know about that?"

Avery wrinkled his brow and tilted his head a little. "No, I didn't. Knew her father kept her isolated if that's what you mean."

"Probably what caused it, but no. She had a few friends in this town, but not many. Few of the kids, but only the ones her daddy said were cool. Play date session shit, ya know? So she'd come in here once a week with a group of three, maybe four, all girls. It'd be all giggles and fun until they started talking about men."

Avery wrote it down and looked back up at Vic. "Was there a problem?"

"Yeah, " Vic's eyes widened with a nod of his head. "A few big ones. For starters, and my main offender, I ended up being that girls fuckin' confidant. Sure, she'd come in here once a week with a group. But she'd come in once every other day alone, crying usually. Always before closing time, when no one but me was here. I got so used to it, I ended up making her a milk-shake and waiting for her.

She told me everything. About how her dad controlled every tiny aspect of her life, how she was forced to have these friends that she didn't even really know. Then there was the boys. When it came to men? Rules were in like radiation during the great war. And the basic theme was, no men allowed. Her dad was so over protective of his little girl that, god bless her, she started to look at women and think about them."

Avery wrinkled his brow even further. " _Whoa, whoa, whoa_. Anna was a lesbian?"

"Anna was Bisexual from what I can tell." Vic replied. "Because she'd never had a real, honest to god conversation with a boy her age, she had to get her kicks from somewhere. And hell, when you're that lonely, any touch or affection is better then none.

That's where a lot of the tears came from. She'd come to me crying about her thinking of a woman touching her, and that it was immoral and sinful and she was going to hell. Like this isn't hell already."

"Jesus..." Avery remarked in a stunned tone. "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her what I believed, what I thought was right. That god has a hell of a lot more to worry about then who sleeps with who. I ain't gay, Avery, but for some reason when that girl talked about how lonely she was, I could understand just wanting to feel something rather then nothing."

"I can't even imagine being that way..."

Vic chuckled and nodded his head. "Neither could I, until she started talking."

Avery wrote down every bit of information, then looked up at Vic. "Did you ever...touch Anna?"

"No!" He replied in a offended tone. "I got a daughter her age, I couldn't do that! But I did warn her that sometimes wanting something so bad isn't good for you. I dunno if she heard me or not, though."

"So, Anna didn't have any relationships? Was she a virgin?"

Vid nodded. "Yeah, she's still got her cherry as far as I know. And I know a lot, sadly. And no, no boyfriends or girlfriends."

Avery reached up and scratched the side of his head as he thought back to the doctor. "Did she ever say anything about her dad being physically abusive?"

"I actually asked her about that. She said no, he never touched her or her mother. It seems like it was just unintentional emotional abuse towards Anna, keeping her locked up like that."

Avery fished his notes and tucked away the note-pad into his pocket. "Opinion of the town seems to be she ran away. You agree with that?"

Vic stood up straight with a sigh and gently shrugged his broad shoulders. "I dunno, Avery. I just don't know. All I know is I'm scared for her. She's a good, sweet girl. Too good and too sweet for this world. If she did run away. . .I can't blame her, but I pray to god she's just hiding somewhere in town. But I dunno. . .I got a bad feeling that she wanted it too much."

Avery sighed, now sharing the same worry that Victor felt. _"I got to find her. . ."_ he muttered then stood up. Vic reached out, and Avery sincearly shook his hand. "Thank you for your help, Vic. You did good listening to her. If you hadn't been here for her...well, wanting a way out leads to more options then just running away."

Victor nodded and patted the back of Avery's hand while it was in his. "I know. . .I think about it every day. Maybe god put me here to help her. I just pray I did. Until I know the truth, you get your ass out there and you find that little girl."

Avery nodded once and slipped his hand out of Vic's.

He left the diner, thoughts of Anna swirling through his mind. Trying to make the connection that he knew was there, but was unsure if he had all the pieces of the puzzle. He'd spent hours walking and interviewing. And hours more sitting at Sam's bar after his conversation with Vic, thinking about all that was happening. He knew that he needed to get out of this town and head for Silver Ridge. But there wasn't a soul to leave until Alison gave the say-so. He'd need to go to her next.

But it'd have to be tomorrow. He prayed that Anna would be okay for one more night. And with nothing left for him to do tonight, he ordered some shots and began to drink the case down into the depths his dark, swirling mind.

 _"Please, Anna. Make it one more night."_


	18. Chapter 18 The Long Road

The dawn broke quicker then Avery figured it would. The orange sunlight beamed through the pulled curtains of the hotel room, laying perfectly across his closed eyes. The warmth of that strand of sun was the only thing comforting about such a wake up. He nearly gasped as he thrashed to his side, laying a hand over his eyes and groaning as he rubbed them. The pain and the pale image still residing within his very eyelids. He groaned to a slouched position at the edge of his bed, bringing his other hand around which was still glued to a bottle of whiskey that had maybe a quarter left in it.

He laid the bottle on the bed and raised his head up, opening his eyes carefully and becoming aware of his temporary home. The room he's stayed in sense arriving in Providence. Just a cheap looking room with faded blue carpeting and faded, weathered wall paper that had begun to peel up. Avery closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

He reached out to his right, grasping the edge of his army-duffel-bag and pulling it up onto the bed next to him with great effort. He unzipped one of the pockets and fished his hand into it, causing something to rattle grasped it and pulled out a small bottle of buffout, popping the cap and dumping two large oval shaped pills into his hand. He put his hand against his open mouth and tilted his head back, letting them fall in. Then brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a small sip. They'd probably kill the hangover. If not, then give him a small boost to do what he needed to do.

He put the pills back into the pocket of the bag, his hand lingering inside of it. After a lingering moment his hand slid out of the pocket and into the unzipped main compartment. He fished through his clothes and grasped another object. Colder and heavier than the last one. He pulled his hand out, and in it he grasped the marksman grip of a laser pistol.

Avery brought it over to his lap, letting his fingers sweep across the dark green colored chamber. He looked down at it with weary eyes. But something inside of him was glad to see it still remained. Among all that was gone, the gun stayed. The gun always stayed the same. He handed it off to his left hand, and stuck his right back into the bag. He located the the pair of socks he was looking for, folded into a tube. He pulled on the toes as his other hand sweeped up, unrolling it like a tube of toothpaste. Three fusion cells rolled out onto the bed. He was shocked the guards hadn't found the gun, the ammo was more hidden than it so he wasn't nearly as surprised. He'd perfectly managed to distract the guard from searching the pair of jeans the gun was hidden in. Just involved informing them that another caravan beside him had a gun hidden away. A gun that he may or may not have planted, depending on his mood towards confession.

He stared down at this gun in his hand. It was a weighted death dealer. It's weight only compacted by the weight of the actions of the wielder. Avery looked down at it and searched deep inside of him. _"You've been killing all your life. Made your way from one cause to another to another."_ He thought to himself. " _You want out...but you always find your way back in. Now you have a choice. It doesn't have to end with this gun, not again. YOU have a choice. But that girl? She doesn't."_

Upon thinking that to himself, he knew. In someway he knew what he had to do. Being around Elias was like an ex-addict being around his drug of choice. Mad him want to fall into old habits. It didn't have to be like that, like how Elias saw the world, how he treated people. It didn't have to end in blood.

He tucked the pistol into a stiff harness just under his left arm. And put his jacket on over it. He checked himself one final time in the mirror, taking his hand out of his pocket to push his hair to the side and out of his eyes. Headache lingering in the back of his head. _"Rest in peace."_ he mumbled and reached to his side, turning off the lamp at his bed-side.

Out the door and to the stables, the sun just beginning it's burning rise into the blue sky. He walked right up to the camped out caravan's just outside of the city walls. Fire's still burning in fire pits, sleepy, ragged caravan guards keeping an eye out on the distant horizon.

Avery stopped just before the rather large group of them. And loudly spoke up. "Who wants into the city?" Merchant's opened their eyes, some taking their hats off their heads and sitting up in their bed rolls, looking at Avery. Some sun burned, all dirty.

One merchant, a fat man in a dirty white suit with a large mustache stood up, putting on his suspenders. "We allowed in now? Because I got some choice words for your mayor!"

Avery looked at the man and turned towards him. "The cities locked down because a Sixteen year old girl's been kidnapped and the Sherif is...hurt. The sooner this get's resolved? The sooner you get into the city."

The fat man snarled with a sigh. "Christ on a cross, we've been baking out here for days! Coulda just told us that!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm telling you now. Now, who wants into the city?"

The merchants all exchanged looks, then looked back at their cargo. And soon every one of them had raised their hand. Even some of the guards, voicing their distaste for their current situation. "Then if you want in, you'll let me borrow one of your Strider's so I can get to to Silverridge. Resolve this. And get you all into the city."

The fat man scoffed and turned away. "Very funny, sir. I ain't giving you my strider on the mere chance you could-."

 _"Fuck you, George!"_ A man in a thick, dry and twiney voice shouted, standing up in the background. He was thin, lanky, dirty and had his red scarf wrapped around his head like a bonnet to keep the sun off of him. "I've been out here longer then you! Me and my guards have been roasting! If you ain't gonna give him your damn strider, I'll give him mine! Shit, I'll give you a gun too if you tell people ya shot a child-snatcher with a Jimmy Lawren brand!"

Avery huffed and walked forward, left-hand thumb hooked into his jeans belt. "Don't give much of a shit about branding, but if you give me your strider I'll wear a neon sign." he muttered as he approached then walked beside the man. The skinny, frail salesman gave the fatter one the finger as he walked by, chatting to Avery about the recoil of his shotgun's and that he may need to hold it particularly tight to his shoulder or hip.

They suited up grey hide-strider with a saddle much darker than it, and a holster for the shotgun. Avery wasn't as quick with the Strider as he'd have liked, fumbling with the straps and constantly having to adjust the saddle so it didn't slip off the surprisingly patient beast's back.

After about fifteen minuets of fumbling with it and some help from Jimmy, Avery saddled up and slid the old pump-action hunting-shotgun into the holster on the side of the strider. The sound of gunmetal scraping against the leather created an all too familiar sound that sent a shiver down his spine. Jimmy handed Avery a canteen of fresh water and smacked the back of the Strider's ass, sending it lurching forward and taking off down the road at full pace. The sun already felt like it was frying him inside of his clothes. It'd be a long journey ahead, but it was one he knew deep inside that he had to make. But his hopes were high. Hopes that he'd make it in time and thing's would resolve themselves.

Avery had always been like that. All throughout his life. He was a glass half full kind of guy, one that would drudge through the knee-deep shit to get the better outcome. It'd been a long time, though. A long time since he'd journeyed out on something like a mission. And even longer since he was on one that actually felt worthy of going on. Those were too much to not pass up on. He wasn't a mercenary, or a law-bringer. He was Avery. And he saw hope where people saw little.

Thirty more minuets passed, and the sun felt like it was hitting a melting point. He'd stripped himself of his coat, putting it on the front of the saddle, choosing to endure the dry and hot wind that blasted against his bare arms and hands, kicking up sand particles and grinding it into his bare flesh. It stung like the pin-prick of needles that wouldn't pierce the skin. Just poke. He pulled the sweat dampened and thin scarf off from around his neck, and tied it over his face for cover, resting the edge of it on the bridge of his nose. Then reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a slightly scratched pair of aviator-sunglasses to cover his eyes. It helped little. There was no relief from the heat. He was far from the air-conditioned cool buildings of Prosper.

He was in hell for all he knew. Sand-dunes around him and broken grayed asphalt under the strider's hooves. Occasionally a broken billboard that read "HUSTON 20 MILES" with an arrow pointing off to the left. Avery looked to see the heat covered silhouette of many large towers jetting up from the ground. He could see holes to the other side in almost all of them. He wondered what it was like in these long-lost cities. He heard only horror stories from those who'd ventured near. Locals called them "The Crypt's." Made up of the pre-war cities Houston, Dallas, Austin and San Antonio. The rest were just burned out husks. But something about these four kept all the local's scared and away from it. Away from scavenging even. Avery wondered what there was to keep people away from supplies and to rather attempt to grow produce out in a desert.

He did not know how many hours had passed him by. The strider had slowed down and they both appeared to be panting. Avery's clothes were grimy from sand and drenched in sweat that poured out of every inch of his skin. His hands shook lightly, and no matter how many times he clenched them into fists, the shaking always came back. He could feel the moisture being sucked from his skin. And with his canteen running as dry as the ground beneath the Strider's hooves, soon he'd be feeling the life being sucked from his veins too.

 _"Just. . .hold. . .on. . ."_ his parched lips whispered a raspy voice to himself as his body hung heavy against the strider. " _Anna. . .hold on . . ."_

He didn't recall what happened after thinking this. His body slumped in the burning mid-day sun, and his vision drew distant. But when he came to, it was to the huffing of the has-been-horse. His eyelids nearly stuck to his eyeballs as he opened them. And when he did, he found something that he almost couldn't believe.

Water. Water all in the bottom of a up-turned satellite dish, laying next to a large building that jetted out of the sand. It was a little murky, but by God it was water. The strider's head was bowed and it was drinking steadily from the pool. Finally some relief from the scorching head. He could even feel dark clouds rolling in-front of the sun, dampening the heat.

Avery gripped the leather of the saddle and coughed dryly. He tried to lift himself, but he was so heavy. So weak. He pushed up with his hands and barely managed to lift his sweat-soaked body an inch off the back of the strider. With all his effort, he slid his booted feet from the slots on the saddle, and managed to lean just far enough to one side that he fell from the strider and into the sand.

Dust kicked up around his impact, and the strider whined. Looking back at it's fallen rider and huffing out a breath. He must have been dehydrated before he'd even left town and not realized it. Spent too much time trying to fix what was wrong he forgot to take care of himself. His lips were peeling, and his fingers weakly clawed at the sand as his partially open eyes begged for the water.

The strider turned slightly, then took a step towards Avery. And to his utter surprise, the horses head reached down and grabbed the back of Avery's T-shirt. It pulled him forward with a yank, dragging him through the sand but closer to the water. Avery couldn't even begin to understand what was happening. But something in his mind registered at that moment. That something more than himself, and this desolate world, was aware of him. Something of a higher power was watching out for him. Or, at-least that's what he chose to believe.

His hand touched the edge of the water with final yank. His hand clenched, almost as if to grip the water. He could feel small ripples knocking against his skin from the Strider drinking. It was now or it was never. He summoned all his strength and pulled himself forward with a weak groan.

His body slid over the edge of the satellite dish and into the murky water. Falling forward and submerging his head into it. He opened his mouth and let it fill it, then closed and swallowed. He did so several times before panic set in of near drowning. And with that, he pushed himself up with no effort at all and gasped, water pouring down his face. Wet bangs hanging in-front of his eyes. He took some breaths, then dunked his head back in.

The water was cool, and refreshing, even if not clean. Damn the bacteria, damn the radiation. He could find a way to fix a sick body, but not a dead one. Several more gulps later, he brought his head up and gasped again.

He was overjoyed, laughing at the luck-no, the blessing, of finding water along this broken and beaten trail. He stayed in that downward dog position, chuckling at absolutely nothing. A smile on his wet face and his vision blocked by over-hanging wet bangs. He reached up with one hand and pushed them back out of his eyes. And immediately wished he hadn't.

The dark clouds that hung over head weren't the only source of shade that was keeping him cool. Directly in-front of him, over-hanging the pool of water. Was a old, dead tree. Towering above even the burnt down building beside him. It stretched to the heavens before him. It's grey branches strewn with plastic sheeting and debris from the wind.

And old and new rotting bodies nailed to it's trunk and larger branches. Blood seeping down them and to the desert ground below.


End file.
